cAlona  the 


WAY 


JAMES  M. 
LUDLOW 


NOV   1    I9l,q 


.v^:: 


BX  9225 

.L8  A5 

1919 

Ludlow, 

James 

Meeker,  1841- 

1932. 

Along  the  frie 

ndly  way 

Along  the  Friendly  Way 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


A  Concentric  Chart  of  History 

Thf  Captain  of  The  Janizaries 

The  Age  of  The  Crusades 

Deborah,  a  Daughter  of  Jerusalem 
Incentives  for  Life 

Sir    Raoul  ;    A    Tale    of    Venice 
and  Constantinople 

Judge  West's  Opinion 

AvANTi ;  A  Tale  of  Sicily 


V 


Along 


NOV   1    1919 


The  Friendly  Way 

Reminiscences  and  Impressions 


By/ 
JAMES  M.  LUDLOW 


New  York  Chicago 

Fleming   H.   Revell    Company 
London  and  Edinburgh 


Copyright,  19 19,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York :  1 58  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago :  1 7  North  Wabash  Ave. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh :      75     Princes    Street 


To 
MT  GRANDCHILDREN 


Salutation 

A  MAN  is  walking  toward  the  sunset.  He 
stoi)s;  turns  lialf  about.  He  is  fascinated 
with  something  in  the  direction  from  which 
he  lias  come.  There  is  a  reflected  glow  in  the  sky, 
Avhich  burnishes  the  zenith  and  makes  the  eastern 
liorizon  almost  rival  in  beauty  the  more  gorgeous 
colors  of  the  west.  A  delicate  purple  invests  the 
familiar  hills,  as  if  they  had  j)ut  on  their  richest 
garments  to  wave  the  traveller  a  loving  farewell. 
The  windows  of  the  scattered  houses  gleam  as  from 
familiar  hearth-fires.  There  are  glimmerings  of 
lake  and  stream  which  seem  to  give  him  the  wink 
of  remembered  friendship.  And  through  the  land- 
scape runs  the  road  he  has  travelled,  its  dust  trans- 
formed into  powdered  gold,  its  steep  acclivities 
levelled  by  the  distance,  and  the  turnings  which 
bewildered  him  as  he  passed  along  now  all  straight- 
ened by  the  long  perspective. 

I  am  that  man.  I  am  "  going  west,"  and  have 
nearly  completed  the  eighth  decade  of  the  journey. 
Of  course,  I  am  interested  in  the  sunset,  and  al- 
most excitedly  curious  to  know  what  lies  beyond  it. 
Am  I  to  enter  and  be  a  sentient  part  of  the  glory? 
Or  will  those  gates  of  iridescent  pearl  be  an  ever- 
receding  horizon,  only  an  eternal  invitation  and 


8  SALUTATION 

allurement?  Or,  may  I  not  suddenly  be  halted  by 
the  dark?  The  future  is  a  mystery.  What  things 
are  "  over  there  "  are  as  yet  in  God's  hand, — the 
closed  hand  with  which  He  offers  them. 

But  there  is  no  uncertainty  about  the  backward 
view.  It  is  all  agleam  with  the  things  which  that 
same  Hand  once  dropped  about  me.  From  what  I 
know  I  can  trust  the  still  unknown.  In  spite  of 
sorrows,  bewilderments,  mistakes — and  worse,  I  am 
so  far  along.  The  retrospect  of  life  is  a  happy 
pastime, — that  is,  when  I  am  wise  enough  to  forget 
some  things.  Why  should  I  not  forget  them,  since 
the  good  book  assures  me  that  He  no  longer  remem- 
bers them  against  me? 

If  it  gives  an  old  man  pleasure  to  think  over  the 
past,  it  may  be  profitable  to  others  who  are 
coming  the  same  way  that  he  should  talk  out  loud 
what  he  thinks, 

"When  all  the  landscape  of  our  lives 
Lies  stretched  behind  us,  and  familiar  places 
Gleam  in  the  distance,  and  sweet  memories 
Rise  like  a  tender  haze,  and  magnify 
The  objects  we  behold,  that  soon  must  vanish. ' ' 

Let  me  have  an  understanding  with  any  one  who 
may  read  these  pages.  The  book  is  not  an  auto- 
biography. Such  a  book  tries  to  tell  what  the  writer 
was  and  did.  But  looking  back  over  the  years  I  do 
not  find  myself  sufficiently  intei'estod  in  what  I  was 
or  did  to  chronicle  it.  But  what  men  and  things 
did  to  me  is  a  more  important  matter,  and  may  be 


SALUTATION  9 

worth  wliilc  telling.  Let  us  t«alk  of  some  of  the 
scratches,  indentations  and  shai)ings  a  man  is  apt 
to  get  as  he  tumbles  along  in  the  great  common 
current. 

Xor  is  the  book  a  record  of  a  special  professional 
career.  One's  occupation  only  gives  him  his  place 
in  the  stream,  and  determines  what  things  will 
strike  him ;  but  the  effect  is  about  the  same  with  us 
all.  That  one  man  is  a  preacher  and  another  man 
a  printer  is  something  accidental,  as  scientists 
would  say,  and  not  essential  to  their  both  being 
men.  I  take  it,  from  familiarity  with  thousands  of 
all  sorts  of  people,  that  the  deeper  interests  that 
absorb  us,  the  greater  passions  that  sway  us,  the 
more  potent  influences  that  make  up  character,  are 
similar  in  the  experience  of  the  majority  of  men. 

These  pages  are,  therefore,  simply  little  bundles 
of  reminiscence  of  one  human  being  looking  back 
from  the  Psalmist's  Bound  of  Life  over  the  way  he 
has  trudged  along  Avith  the  crowd  of  his  generation. 

And  that  crowd!  How  it  has  jostled  me,  as, 
until  recently,  I  have  been  compelled  to  lead  an 
active  life!  In  the  multitude  of  fellow-trampers 
I  struck  antagonisms.  But  the  recollection  of  such 
things  grows  very  dim,  while  the  road  of  memory  is 
thronged  with  kindly  faces  and  helping  hands.  So 
I  title  the  book  Along  the  Friendly  Way,  and  ask 
you  to  jog  along  with  me  a  little  while. 

J.  M.  L. 

East  Orange,  N.  J, 


Contents 

I.  Some  Preliminaries  ...         .        .       15 

Birth — What  is  it  ? 
Ancestral  Ingredients. 
The  Divine  Abyss. 
Not  Fully  Arrived. 
Vicarious  Motherhood. 
The  Invisible  Guide. 

II.  Earliest  Recollections  .        .        •        •      37 

Memory  or  Imagination. 
Children's  Lies. 
A  Young  Anarchist. 
First  Physical  Suffering. 
First  Contact  with  Greatness. 
First  Call  of  Patriotism. 
Flare  of  the  Grand  Flame. 
Loneliness — The  Dusky  Road. 
The  World  Breaking  in. 
Boyish  Adventure. 
A  Sin  Its  Own  Cure. 

III.  BOARDING-SCHOOL  DaYS        •  •  .  -         73 

Near    to   Nature's    Heart — A    Nest  ;     Not    an 

Incubator. 
Old-time  Sports — Young  Niinrods. 
A  Psychological  Puzzle. 
Special  Providence  Recognized. 
Boyish  Influences. 
Companionships  Unfelt. 
Kindergarten  Archjeology. 

11 


12  CONTENTS 

IV.  Rfxigious  Impressions       ....       98 

First  Sight  of  Death. 

Spiritual  Influence  of  Places  and  Men. 

A  Boy's  Feeling — Dominates  After  Experience. 

The  Old  School  Sixty  Years  After. 

V.  Adrift 114 

Other  Schools — Spineless  Education. 
By-products  of  Schooling. 
Sinister  Influences. 
A  Friendly  Rescue. 
A  Teacher  Taught. 

VI.  College  Days   .         .        .        .        .         .136 

Temptations. 

Old-time  Prex. 

Drill  and  Training. 

An  Amateur  Tramp — A  Derelict  in  Port. 

A  Political  Puzzle — Lincoln  in  the  Gas-light. 

The  Un-Civil  War— A  Wrecked  Class. 

VII.  Out  in  the  World 167 

Choice  of  a  Profession — Taste  versus  Talent. 

The  Wife. 

Downs  and  Ups. 

Other's  Hands  on  Ours. 

My  Mentor. 

A  Tumble  and  the  Rebound. 

VIII.  Men  and  Men    ......     19S 

What  is  Man  ? — Contrasts. 
Men  Who  are  Misunderstood. 
Reputations  often  Mislabels. 
Obstinacy,  or  Wide-eyedness  ? 

IX.  Some  Mysteries         .         .         .         .         .    215 

A  Cloud  over  the  House — The  Dead  Live. 
Occult  Suggestions . 
Telepathic  Suggestions. 
Literar)'^  Assimilation. 


CONTENTS  13 

X.  Rest  Cures 231 

Change  of  Thought. 

Literary  Diversion. 

Change  of  Scene — Rapid  Motion — Entertaining 
Royalty — Camping  and  Tramping  in  Strange 
Lands — Human  Curios — A  Savant  in  Camou- 
flage. 

XL       Friends     .         .         .         .         >         .         .     266 

Friends  Unlike  Ourselves. 
Friends  Antagonistic. 
Some  Odd  Friendships. 
Descensus  Averno. 
Beneath  the  Skin. 

XIL      Retirement 299 

A  Mistake  for  Many. 
The  New  Liberty. 
Sailing  Away. 
Drifting  With  the  Ages. 

XIIL     Bungalow  Days         .        .         ,         .         -     315 
The  Retreat. 

Self-diagnosis  of  Old  Age. 
Old  Age  Losses  and  Gains. 

XIV.     Recreations  of  Age  ....     337 

Dust-bin  Archives — Pot-Pourri. 

Memories   Revived  and  Revised. 

Little  Things. 

On  Good  Terms  with  Nature. 

Owling  Hours. 

The  Great  Gloaming. 


I 

SOME  PRELIMINARIES 

/  Am  Born, 

SO  says  our  big  family  Bible,  on  one  of  the 
unprinted  leaves  between  tlie  Old  and  New 
Testaments,  right  next  to  the  Apocrypha,  of 
which  unauthenticated  records  I  am  inclined  to 
think  it  a  part.  The  dictionary  defines  ^'  born  "  as 
"  brought  into  being  " ;  and  I  am  somewhat  sceptical 
of  the  current  notion  that  the  assumption  of  one's 
present  manikin  form  marks  the  absolute  beginning 
of  one's  existence.  To  borrow  a  figure  from  the 
electric  bulb  under  which  I  am  now  sitting,  I  con- 
ceive that  present  life  may  be  only  a  briefly  elon- 
gated spark  leaping  a  gap  between  two  eternities ; 
that  the  happenings,  doings  and  experiences  of  the 
mortal  estate  furnish,  as  it  were,  only  the  material 
of  a  sort  of  incandescent  wire  which  gives  tem- 
porary shape  and  visibility  to  a  spiritual  something 
that  always  was  and  always  will  be. 

To  this  notion  I  am  sometimes  inclined  from 
having  often  had  those  shadowy  reminiscences  of 
which  Plato  speaks  in  arguing  for  a  previous  state 
of  existence.  Even  as  a  child  I  was  frequently 
puzzled  in  going  to  a  hitherto  unvisited  place  by  a 

15 


16     ALOE^G  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

vivid  persuasion  tliat  I  had  been  tlie  same  way  be- 
fore. My  memory  seemed  to  supjily  road-marks 
before  my  senses  detected  them.  Is  there  a  subcon- 
scious recollection  whose  diary  is  written,  not  on 
brain  tissue,  but  upon  some  finer  and  imperishable 
filament  of  the  soul?  Is  there  a  sort  of  spiritual 
power  in  men,  akin  to  the  scent  in  deer,  which  dis- 
cerns old  runways  from  which  all  footprints  have 
been  obliterated?  Do  we  possess  something  of  a 
higher  order  akin  to  the  instinct  which  enables  a  cat 
carried  away  in  a  darkened  basket  to  retrace  her 
way  home;  or  to  that  of  birds  that  migrate  for 
their  winter  vacations  in  the  far  South  and  return 
again  to  their  old  nests  on  our  northern  lawns, 
though  they  find  no  wing-scratches  on  the  air? 

But  alas  for  me!  though  my  memory — or  my 
imagination — seems  to  blaze  the  way,  I  confess  that 
it  does  not  lead  me  clearly  enough  through  the 
prenatal  homeland  to  assure  me  that  I  shall  not  get 
lost  in  my  present  transmigratory  speculations.  I 
can  only  venture  the  opinion  that  I  may  have 
tarried  in  those  zones,  as  Edwin  Arnold  describes 
them  in  "  The  Light  of  Asia," 

.     .     .     "where  saintliest  spirits  dead 
Wait  ten  thousand  years,  then  live  again. '  * 

Or,  where  souls 

.    .     .    "as  feathered  reed-seeds  fly 

O  'er  rock  and  loam  and  sand,  until  they  find 

Their  marsh,  and  multiply." 


SOME  PRELIMINARIES  17 

In  this  one  respect  I  sympathize  with  Schopen- 
hauer. One  day,  as  he  was  walking  with  head 
howed  by  the  weight  of  his  meditations,  a  rude 
fellow  butted  into  him. 

"  Who  are  you  anyway?  "  said  the  rowdy. 

The  philosopher  eyed  the  intruder  sadly  as  he 
responded,  "  Who  am  I?     How  I  wish  I  knew!  " 

But,  while  I  cannot  solve  the  mystery  of  human 
origin,  I  decline  to  search  for  it  in  the  marshes  of 
pessimism  where  fancy  transforms  punk-glows  into 
demons'  heads.  There  are  sun-clad  hills  from 
which  one  can  see  farther  than  through  the  fogs. 
Bright  clouds  doubtless  shut  out  the  view  of  the 
horizon  as  effectually  as  do  the  black  clouds,  but  I 
like  the  bright  obscurations.  I  prefer  to  build  my 
ancestral  "  castle  in  the  air  "  out  of  them  rather 
than  with  the  dank  vapors  of  the  abyss.  So,  if 
the  pages  of  my  prenatal  journal  are  written  in 
what  to  me  is  a  dead  language — only  a  few  un- 
decipherable hieroglyphic  letters — these  letters, 
like  some  in  old  manuscripts,  are  "  illuminated  " 
with  bright  colors.  Here  are  some  of  the  vagaries 
that  please  me  in  day-dreaming. 

When  I  was  a  mere  child,  and  had  no  more 
knowledge  of  architecture  than  has  a  papoose  in  a 
tepee,  I  watched  some  men  building  a  factory. 
Suddenly  the  bricks  in  the  walls  were  magnified  in 
my  imagination,  as  we  sometimes  see  the  pebbles  on 
the  beach  changed  into  great  boulders  under  the 
magic  of  a  mirage.  The  low  outlines  of  the  factory 
swelled  and  swelled  into  palatial  proportions  and 


18  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

exquisite  symmetry,  with  facade  and  towers  and 
dome.  Since  then  I  have  indulged  in  globe-trot- 
ting, and  have  many  times  been  startled  by  seeing 
in  eastern  lands  partial  reproductions  of  my  child- 
hood vision,  but  never  on  grander  scale  than  in  my 
apparent  recollection.  They  were  strange  to  me, 
yet  strangely  familiar.  Had  I  ever  seen  them  be- 
fore— when  I  was  an  oriental  courtier,  or  a  nomad 
thief  in  the  narrow  streets  of  an  Arab  town,  or  a 
dog  that  watched  these  structures  with  half-open 
eyes  as  I  slept  on  the  sun-baked  pavement? 

Then,  too,  I  have  no  artistic  taste, — at  least  I 
have  never  been  accused  of  it.  My  family  would 
not  trust  me  to  buy  an  ornamental  hitching-post 
outside  the  lawn  gate ;  yet,  as  I  have  sat  half  asleep 
on  the  piazza,  troops  of  fairies  have  danced  on  the 
lawn,  any  one  of  whom  was  as  gracefully  formed  as 
faun  or  goddess  in  the  Uffizi  or  Vatican. 

Now  if  it  be  true  that,  as  psychologists  say, 
dreams  are  made  up  of  the  disjecta  membra  of 
waking  visions,  I  must  have  somewhere  seen  the 
substance  of  these  things,  if  not  on  the  mirror  of  a 
fleshly  eye,  at  least  on  some  spiritual  retina  I  may 
have  once  possessed.  Notwithstanding  the  vague- 
ness and  mystery  of  these  experiences  I  am  not 
prepared  to  dispute  so  eminent  authority  as  Max 
Miiller,  who  says, — "  We  may  have  gazed  on  beauty 
in  a  former  life.  It  certainly  is  not  of  this  life,  but 
it  certainly  underlies  this  life."  So  I  wonder  if  my 
subliminal  consciousness,  in  its  wanderings  along 
the  threshold  of  present  existence,  has  not  been 


SOME  PRELIMINARIES  19 

vehicled  by  anotlier  body,  or  if  I  may  not  have 
flitted  as  a  ghost  over  these  same  material  things. 

It  may  be  that  my  subliminal  consciousness  was 
never  before  incarnated;  that,  in  its  roaming 
through  si>ace,  it  had  not  "  entered  "  the  earth's  at- 
mosphere, where,  to  adopt  the  conceit  of  Tasso, 

.    .     .    **it  rolled 
The  air  around  its  viewless  essence,  so 
That  mortal  eye  the  vision  might  behold." 

It  may  have  been  a  non-material  intelligence  that 
saw  everything  without  eyes  and  felt  everything 
without  touch.  Milton  thought  of  us  as  made  up  of 
at  least  four  layers,  the  outer  man  and  "  the  inner 
man  that  is  the  spirit  of  the  souV  Some  of  the 
Christian  Fathers,  like  Origen,  held  that  souls  were 
created  before  bodies,  and  afterwards  discovered 
their  proper  or  congenial  habitations.  How  long 
souls  are  out  prospecting,  these  wise  men  do  not 
say ;  they  only  suggest  that  during  these  pioneering 
expeditions  souls  acquire  much  knowledge  of  which 
present  mind  can  have  nothing  but  vague  reminis- 
cences. 

To  this  band  of  sages  my  old  nurse  doubtless  be- 
longed. I  once  asked  her,  "Where  did  I  come 
from?  "  She  replied,  "  Why,  you  dropped  through 
one  of  those  pinholes  in  the  sky," — pointing  up  to 
the  stars.  Doubtless  her  philosophy  was  as  good 
as  that  of  most  of  the  "  Myths  of  the  Dawn."  If  it 
be  true,  I  will  try  to  credit  the  legend  that  the  stork 
brought  me  from  one  of  the  lagoons  of  light  which 


20  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

we  sometimes  see  on  the  horizon  when  the  sun  la 
rising.  I  recall  that  Cicero  somewhere  says,  "  The 
soul's  native  seat  is  heaven;  and  it  is  with  re- 
luctance that  she  is  thrust  down  from  those  celestial 
mansions  into  these  lower  regions  where  all  is  for- 
eign and  repugnant  to  her  divine  nature."  I  like 
Wordsworth : 

*  *  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting ; 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life 's  Star, 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 

And  Cometh  from  afar: — 

Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home." 

With  this  encouragement  from  philosophers  and 
poets  I  will  brave  the  accusation  of  being  over- 
mystical,  and  acknowledge  that  I  have  sometimes 
felt  the  pull  of  something  super-  or  subter-mundane 
from  out  the  unknown  past.  Some  wave  seems 
to  have  rolled  against  me  from  that  great  ocean 
which  I  forgot  as  soon  as  I  drifted  up  into  this  little 
creek  of  time.  For  example,  just  before  dropping 
to  sleep  at  night, — or  better,  when  slipping  down 
the  descent  into  my  cat-nap  after  lunch, — or  better 
still,  when  stretched  upon  some  summer  hillside 
with  pictured  infinity  expanding  around  me — my 
spirit  floats  with  seeming  naturalness,  a  sort  of  at- 
home-ness,  over  its  ordinary  limits  as  easily  as 
clouds  coast  over  the  mountains,  and  fogs  unroll 


SOME  PRELIMINARIES  21 

themselves  on  tlie  sea.  I  can  no  more  divest  myself 
of  this  feeling  than  I  can  keep  the  doors  and  win- 
dows so  tightly  closed  as  to  exclnde  the  knowledge 
that  my  sense-world  is  larger  than  my  house. 
Strange  spiritual  atmosphere  comes  in  to  me 
through  all  sorts  of  crack  and  cranny;  sometimes 
most  refreshing,  exhilarating;  sometimes  soughing 
dismally,  and  making  me  afraid  because  I  must 
some  day  make  my  exit  into  the  great  out-of-doors 
where  all  things  are  unknown. 

With  Tennyson  let  us  be  patient  until  the  mys- 
tery clears; — 

'  *  When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 
Turns  again  home." 

Ancestral  Ingredients. 

"  One  may  as  well  be  hanged  for  a  sheep  as  for  a 
lamb ; "  so,  having  risked  my  philosophical  repute 
in  marauding  thus  far  into  the  great  border  land,  I 
may  as  well  make  a  larger  venture. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  says  that  a  man's  biog- 
raphy should  begin  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  before 
his  birth.  A  more  materialistic  notion,  and  one 
less  agreeable  to  my  conceit,  is  this, — I  am  nothing 
more  than  the  resultant  of  all  the  forces  that  ever 
struggled  through  the  blood  and  brains  of  my  fore- 
bears from  chimpanzee  days ;  a  centesimum  quid  of 
the  ingredients  that  were  mixed  in  a  hundred  gen- 
erations, modifying  or  intensifying  the  peculiarities 
of  their  intelligence  and  ignorance,  of  their  high 
philosophies  and  vagrant  superstitions,  their  virtues 


22  ALONG  THE  FHIENDLY  WAY 

and  vices,  their  joys  and  griefs,  their  triumphs  and 
despairs.  My  natal  current  must  have  been  like  a 
stream  of  molten  metal,  now  running  into  this 
mould,  now  into  that ;  broken  up  again  and  thrown 
back  into  the  furnace ;  recast  a  thousand  times,  and 
finally  poured  into  the  matrix  of  my  present  phys- 
ical shape ; — good  stuff  or  slag  according  as  it  has 
been  well  smelted  in  the  brains  and  nerves  of  my 
multifarious  progenitors,  or  has  been  spoiled  by 
them  and  made  fit  only  for  the  refuse  heap. 

Some  things  in  my  experience  incline  me  to  this 
gruesome  hypothesis.     For  example : 

I  have  often  had  occasion  to  notice  that  I  am  not 
a  unit  in  character.  Though  I  am  conscious  of  not 
having  attained  the  highest  virtues,  and  am  un- 
willing to  confess  to  the  lowest  vices,  yet  I  have 
never  been  able  to  make  a  straight  line  between 
good  and  evil,  but  have  zigzagged  like  a  thistle  in 
the  wind.  My  moral  biography  would  be  about  as 
consistent  as  the  leaves  of  Saint  Augustine's  Con- 
fessions and  those  of  Rousseau  if  torn  out  of  their 
respective  volumes  and  rearranged  by  the  "  printer's 
devil."  "  When  I  would  do  good,  then  evil  is  present 
with  me  " ;  now  Saint  George  upj^ermost,  and  now 
the  Dragon. 

To  be  frankly  honest,  as  an  ordinary  man  I  can- 
not claim  to  have  even  persisted  in  a  great  purpose 
of  morality,  except  when  saying  my  prayers.  At 
one  moment  I  am  quite  saintly  in  my  aspiration 
and  determination.  That  must  be  because  my 
grandmother,  who  from  the  wall  yonder  looks  down 


SOME  PKELIMINARIES  23 

upon  me  so  serenely  in  the  white  cap  that  fits  her 
like  a  halo,  has  bequeathed  to  me  that  sweet  and 
holy  quality  of  herself.  At  other  moments  I  am 
indifferent  to  all  impulses  of  sanctity,  benumbed  by 
trivial  temptations  no  bigger  than  gnat-stings. 
This  must  be  the  work  of  some  ancestor  who  was 
hanged,  or  ought  to  have  been,  back  in  the  days 
when  Robin  Hood  was  the  hero  of  Sherwood  Forest. 

I  find  the  same  inconsistency  and  vacillation  in 
my  moods.  Still-water  or  cascade?  That  depends 
upon  what  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  channel  where  my 
life  current  flows ;  what  these  same  forebears  have 
left  there  where  my  conscious  self  runs  babbling 
over  my  subconscious  self.  Yesterday  I  purred  all 
day,  happy  in  the  fact  that  I  was  alive  in  God's 
beautiful  world;  to-morrow  I  will  be  depressed, 
querulous,  seeing  everything  in  blue  tints,  although 
there  will  be  no  change  in  my  diet,  my  digestion,  the 
state  of  the  barometer  or  the  market  quotations,  and 
not  a  smile  will  have  fallen  off  the  face  of  nature 
or  the  faces  of  my  friends.  This  must  be  due  to  the 
Hivites  and  Jebusites  who  are  still  fighting  in  the 
Canaan  I  have  come  to  possess. 

I  may  say  the  same  thing  regarding  my  opinions. 
I  pride  myself  upon  my  independent  judgment.  I 
am  as  stubborn  as  a  mule  when  any  one  tries  to  force 
my  conviction  by  authoritative  statements ;  and  the 
sweetest  persuasions  of  logic  and  sentiment  I  can 
resist  as  a  horse  that  doesn't  want  to  be  led  to  water. 
Yet  at  times  I  find  myself  lapsing  into  all  sorts  of 
prejudice,  which  my  reason  rejects  and  my  taste 


24  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

abhors.  I  am  convinced  of  Free  Will,  for  I  am  at 
times  furiously  wilful;  yet  I  am  spasmodically  a 
Fatalist.  Perhaps  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that  Cal- 
vinism was  so  strong  a  strain  in  my  forefathers' 
and  f oremothers'  blood.  I  am  from  deliberate  prin- 
ciple a  democrat,  yet  I  like  an  occasional  dictator ; 
jiossibly  because  my  ancestors  were  Cromwellians. 
I  am  a  Christian,  but  have  my  off  moments  of 
Paganism  as  dark  as  that  of  the  Druids,  who 
slaughtered  their  vicarious  victims  under  the  oaks 
where  my  great-great-great-grandmother  when  a 
child  made  acorn  cuj)s  into  necklaces. 

I  have  observed  in  testing  these  experiences  that 
they  are  antagonistic,  and  I  am  not  inclined  to  com- 
promise on  any  via  media.  I  have  taken  my  virtues 
and  vices,  my  truths  and  follies,  "  straight,"  never 
"  half  an'  half."  I  may  have  been  saint  or  devil  at 
times,  but  always  at  different  times,  and  was  never 
a  saintly  devil  nor  a  devil  of  a  saint.  Stevenson 
need  not  have  invented  a  drug  to  account  for  the 
transmutations  of  Jekyll  and  Hyde,  since  these  two 
men,  by  some  freak  of  nature,  or  in  the  hurry  of 
souls  to  escape  some  spiritual  thunder-shower,  may 
have  taken  permanent  lodging  under  the  same  skin. 
One  is  tempted  to  pray — especially  on  Sundays, 
when  recalling  the  sins  of  the  week, — "  Lord,  it  was 
not  I  that  did  it,  but  that  other  fellow  who  shares 
my  carnal  apartment,  and  leaves  his  uncleanness 
about." 

I  do  not  feel  lonely  in  making  this  confession,  for 
I  am  speaking  of  the  ordinary  man  everywhere,     I 


SOME  PKELIMINAEIES  26 

know  of  no  one  who  is  morally  straight  as  a  string, 
except  when  the  string  is  in  a  heap.  Human  nature 
is  a  tangle  of  inconsistencies. 

You  have  read  of  Ali  Pasha,  the  most  murderous 
villain  of  modern  times.  He  would  cry  like  a  girl 
when  his  pet  bird  broke  its  wings  trying  to  escape 
from  the  cage.  So  sentimental  was  he  that  he 
begged  the  pardon  of  a  rose  when  he  wrenched  it 
from  its  stalk  to  give  it  to  one  of  his  bloody  mis- 
tresses. 

A  poor  crippled  beggar  would  make  Louis 
Napoleon's  pocketbook  weep  gold;  yet  a  passing 
regiment  that  he  had  hired  to  cut  people's  throats 
tickled  him  into  a  laugh  like  that  of  an  idiot. 

William  Penn  would  not  harm  an  Indian  to  the 
extent  of  a  wampmn,  but  he  delighted  to  watch  the 
tortures  of  a  malefactor  in  the  hands  of  the  execu- 
tioners. 

Eobespierre,  called  The  Incorruptible,  who 
burned  with  indignation  at  all  social  shams,  was  a 
conceited  ass,  and  had  his  chamber  lined  with 
mirrors  that  he  might  constantly  look  upon  the 
reflection  of  his  own  ungainly  form. 

Why,  that  grandmother  of  mine,  as  sweet  a  soul 
as  God  ever  put  in  frocks,  used  to  tell  me  of  her 
pastime  as  a  little  girl,  when  on  a  Friday  she  could 
go  to  the  village  green  and  see  the  culprits  have 
their  ears  nailed  to  a  board  or  their  feet  clamped 
in  the  stocks. 

Query : — Does  the  new-born,  coming  down  through 
its  ancestral  veins,  emerge  into  this  world  like  a 


26  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

fresh  mountain  spring,  or  only  ooze  into  it  like  sur- 
face drainage  from  a  marsh?  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain ; — as  we  find  no  well  filled  with  absolute  HgO, 
but  all  its  water  is  tinctured  by  the  chemicals  which 
it  gathers  in  passing  through  the  earth,  so  the  soul 
shows  traces  of  the  various  moral  stuffs  it  has  en- 
countered, some  of  which  stuffs  are  as  salubrious 
as  that  of  healing  fountains,  some  as  tainted  as  that 
of  the  Dead  Sea. 

The  Divine  Abyss. 

A  more  hopeful  theory  of  human  origin  is  sug- 
gested by  some; — namely,  that  before  we  were  in- 
carnated, even  ancestrally,  our  spirits  were  parts 
of  an  infinite  flood  of  intelligence  and  purity,  which 
we  call  God;  that  all  woeful  traits  have  been  con- 
tracted solely  by  contact  with  human  blood;  that, 
if  we  could  only  fathom  deep  enough  this  ocean 
of  the  Unknown,  we  should  find  all  serene  and 
salubrious. 

The  ancient  pagan  Pythagoras  said  that  the  hu- 
man soul  is  a  detached  part  of  or  emanation  from 
the  Universal  Soul.  Our  modern  pagan  Renan 
calls  us  men  "  bubbles  on  the  surface  of  existence, 
who  feel  a  mysterious  kinship  with  Our  Father  the 
Abyss."  A  man  who  has  lost  a  genial  faith,  as 
Eenan  confessed  he  had  done  when  he  abandoned 
Christianity,  is  apt  to  be  lugubrious  and  despair- 
ing ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  one  who  is  feeling  his 
way  toward  faith,  notwithstanding  his  many  un- 
certainties, is  apt  to  be  cheerful  and  hopeful.     The 


SOME  PEELIMINAEIES  27 

former  is  only  a  derelict;  the  latter  is  an  explorer. 
There  is  a  vast  difference  in  the  manhood  of  a  tramp 
and  that  of  a  prospector. 

The  clearer  mind  of  Epictetus  represented  Zeus 
as  saying  to  a  mortal,  "  Thy  body  is  not  thine  own, 
but  only  a  finer  mixture  of  clay, — but  I  have  given 
thee  a  certain  portion  of  myself."  This  ancient 
seems  to  have  sounded  that  "Abyss  "  so  deep  that 
the  lead  found  purer  springs  in  which  it  was 
cleansed  from  the  mud  of  its  middle  passage. 

Marcus  Aurelius  also  felt  the  tide-boat  of  this 
theory.  If  he  did  not  entertain  clearly  the  idea  of 
an  infinite  subconsciousness  he  explored  upward 
and  outward,  feeling  his  way  toward  a  universal 
super-consciousness.  Hear  him ! — "  No  longer  let 
thy  breathing  act  only  in  concert  with  the  air  which 
surrounds  thee,  but  let  thy  intelligence  also  be  in 
harmony  with  the  Intelligence  which  embraces  all 
things.  For  the  Intelligent  Power  is  no  less  dif- 
fused in  all  parts,  and  pervades  all  things  for  him 
who  is  willing  to  draw  it  to  him,  than  the  aerial 
power  for  him  who  is  able  to  respire  it."  Perhaps 
this  is  akin  to  what  Socrates  meant  when  he  spoke 
of  the  Daemon  whose  wordless  voice  he  could  hear 
whenever  he  silenced  the  babble  of  his  less  august 
thoughts. 

May  we  not  then  say  that  our  individual  human 
lives  are  in  some  sense  parts  of  the  Divine  Life 
which  comes  into  a  diminutive,  but  no  less  real, 
consciousness  in  our  immediate  personalities? 
May  not  you  and  I  be  something  like  the  divisions 


28  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

of  the  great  sea  into  bays  and  creeks,  all  of  which, 
except  for  the  defilements  from  their  own  banks 
and  channels,  are  kept  pure  and  lifef ul  by  the  same 
mighty  tides  that  are  the  pulse-beats  of  the  ocean? 
Surely,  as  Saint  Paul  says,  "  In  Him  we  all  live, 
and  move,  and  have  our  being : "  only  the  Adamic 
inlets  soiling  the  flow  of  the  Blessed  Spirit.  May  I 
think  of  Christ  as  a  great  billow  from  the  Infinite 
Blessedness  that  beats  on  the  bar  of  every  man's 
existence,  and,  by  the  flooding  of  His  divine  and 
human  consciousness,  assures  us  men  that  we  also 
are  divine? 

If  indeed  I  am  only  a  "  bubble  on  the  surface  of 
existence,"  since  that  Abyss  is  the  infinitude  of 
God  in  His  goodness,  I  shall  be  content  some  day 
to  break  through  the  thin  filament,  however  opales- 
cent it  may  be  with  present  life  gladness  and  con- 
ceits, and  to  sink  within  the  Eternal  Bosom. 

Not  Fully  Arrived. 

So  I  will  change  the  family  record  in  the  old 
Bible,  and  read,  not  that  I  was  born,  but  that  I — 
arrived. 

I  wonder,  however,  if  I  arrived  in  this  world  in 
my  entirety.  Is  all  of  me  now  really  encased  in 
this  body?  A  philosopher  who  lived  just  after  the 
Dark  Ages,  and  owl-like  was  blinking  with  the  day- 
light of  modern  inquiry,  taught  that  the  soul  ex- 
tends in  about  a  three-foot  radius  from  the  spinal 
column;  and  that,  if  we  had  soul-eyes,  we  should 
appear    to    one    another    like    elongated    ghostly 


SOME  PEELIMINAKIES  29 

balloons  ballasted  down  to  the  eartli  by  the  weight 
of  our  bodies.  The  theory  is  saved  from  being 
ridiculous  by  the  recent  discovery  of  De  Rochas 
that  we  may  have  sensation  of  things  two  feet  be- 
yond our  skins.  But  the  theory,  if  not  unscientific, 
is  belittling.  I  know  I  am  bigger  than  that.  At 
this  moment  I  can  with  my  soul-eyes,  without  chang- 
ing my  posture,  overlap  my  library  table  and  by 
memory  reread  many  delightful  sayings  in  the 
books  on  the  shelves  yonder.  I  can,  without  even 
opening  the  window,  expand  myself  over  the  hills, 
greet  distant  friends,  or  look  on  familiar  scenes  be- 
yond the  seas.  Of  course,  you  will  call  this  only 
imaginary  inflation.  But  to  me  it  is  more  real,  in 
the  sense  that  it  makes  more  impression  upon  me, 
than  anything  else  within  the  range  of  mere  sight 
and  touch. 

Sir  Oliver  Lodge  queers  me  with  some  of  his 
psychological  hypotheses;  but  there  is  at  least 
sanity  in  this : — "  The  whole  of  us  may  not  be  in- 
carnated in  our  present  selves.  What  the  rest  of 
me  may  be  doing  for  these  years  while  I  am  here,  I 
do  not  know ;  perhaps  it  is  asleep."  Let  me  add,  I 
am  then  like  a  traveller  from  a  far  country  who 
has  arrived  at  his  destination  with  a  hand-bag  con- 
taining only  scant  clothing  and  soiled,  with  a  little 
loose  money  in  his  purse,  but  whose  larger  luggage 
has  been  detained  somewhere  en  route,  and  his 
letters-of -credit  not  yet  forwarded.  Or  possibly  I 
resemble  one  of  those  unfortunates  who,  in  tem- 
porary mental  aberration,  has  wandered  away  from 


30  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

home,  forgotten  his  name,  family  and  estate,  fancies 
himself  to  be  only  a  tramp,  contented  with  what 
he  earns  in  little  jobs  or  gets  in  the  doles  of  way- 
side charity.  Will  lever  come  to  my  full  self?  Or 
rather,  will  my  full  self  ever  catch  up  with  its 
advanced  guard? 

This  theory  suggests  an  interpretation  of  certain 
strange  sensations  I  sometimes  have ;  they  are  as  if 
I  felt  the  dragging  cords  of  being  which  are  not  yet 
fully  coiled  within  my  present  dimensions ;  a  part  of 
that  mysterious  substance  I  call  "  Myself  "  that  is 
still  trailing  through  the  vasty  expanse.  Perhaps 
the  filmy  skirts  of  my  essence  have  caught  on  the 
points  of  some  star,  or  on  the  horns  of  the  moon. 

I  must,  then,  no  longer  despise  the  astrologers; 
for  may  not  my  destiny  be  somewhat  controlled  by 
what  is  left  up  yonder?  It  may  be  that  what  we 
deride  as  the  superstition  of  some  German  parishes 
is  only  a  mark  of  the  precocity  of  the  dwellers  in 
that  land  of  Kultur.  At  the  birth  of  a  child  they 
still  are  accustomed,  as  in  the  Middle  Ages,  to  take 
his  horoscope,  file  it  in  connection  with  his  bap- 
tismal certificate,  and  keep  a  coi)y  for  ready  refer- 
ence in  the  family  chest.  Goethe  thus  tells  us  of 
his  arrival  on  the  beach  of  time ; — "  My  horoscope 
was  propitious;  the  sun  stood  in  the  sign  of  the 
Virgin,  and  had  culminated  for  the  day;  Jupiter 
and  Venus  looked  on  me  with  a  friendly  eye,  and 
Mercury  not  adversely,"  etc. 

If  some  of  Me — the  delayed  baggage  of  my 
spiritual  faculties — is  still  within  the  precincts  of 


SOME  PRELIMINAEIES  31 

a  brighter  world,  this  will  account  for  certain 
religious  predispositions  that  hold  me  fast  in  spite 
of  very  strong  eccentric  imi^ulses  to  fly  away  from 
the  Creed :  and  also  for  a  brightness  that  constantly 
glimmers  through  the  misty  damps  of  present  world 
experiences  and  keeps  me  vaguely  hopeful. 

I  can  feel  that  check  for  my  delayed  spiritual 
baggage,  as  it  were,  in  my  pocket,  though  I  can't 
read  just  what  it  says.  I  will  keep  the  check,  for 
perhaps  all  my  belongings  will  be  delivered  at  the 
next  station  of  existence.  I  will  emulate  the  pa- 
tience of  Job,  who,  in  just  such  an  embarrassing 
dilemma,  said,  "All  the  days  of  my  appointed  time 
will  I  wait,  till  my  change  come." 

Vicarious  Motherhood. 

The  coasts  of  this  life  are  girt  with  dangers. 
There  is  no  safe  landing-place  for  a  stranger  from 
the  Beyond.  We  make  the  shore,  if  at  all,  only 
through  heavy  surfs  in  which  vast  multitudes 
perish.  Indeed,  the  majority  of  mankind  never 
take  the  first  step  upon  the  new-found  land,  but 
slip  back  into  the  Abyss.  The  advance  of  obstetrical 
science  has  buoyed  some  channels,  but  children's 
bones  encircle  the  shores  of  life,  as  the  reefs  made 
by  dead  coral  insects  girdle  the  islands  of  the 
Caribbean  Sea.  If  you  have  made  the  landing 
and  have  no  higher  faith  you  should  imitate  the 
ancients  who  hung  up  their  garments  in  the  temple 
of  Neptune.  Or  Clotho,  the  Fate  that  holds  the  dis- 
taff and  begins  to  spin  the  cord  of  life,  should  have 


32  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

an  offering  for  not  letting  Atropos  prematurely  clip 
it  off. 

I  escaped  those  breakers ;  but  narrowly.  I  have 
been  told  that  I  survived  only  after  a  series  of 
resuscitations,  "  first  helps,"  practised  upon  me  by 
those  who  watched  my  coming. 

My  arrival  was  perilous  not  only  to  myself ;  it  had 
a  most  tragic  attendant.  I  bow  my  head  as  I  write 
these  words,  overcome  by  the  dark  mystery  of  it 
all ; — a  mystery  of  suffering,  of  sacrifice,  to  which  I 
would  not  refer  were  it  not  also  so  common.  My 
entrance  into  life  was  my  mother's  exit  from  it. 
Her  life  and  mine  were  "  ships  that  passed  in  the 
night." 

Thus  I  was  ushered  into  the  world  by  no  "  fairy 
godmother "  with  dancing  feet  and  starry  eyes ; 
but  by  a  sombre-robed  angel  with  sorrowing  face, — 
a  face,  as  it  seems  to  me,  shadowed  by  the  Cross; 
for  Maternity  and  Calvary  are  the  symbols  of  the 
law  of  vicarious  sacrifice  which  underlies  all  human 
progress. 

The  ordinary  problem  of  death  does  not  trouble 
me.  Indeed,  I  can  readily  discern  the  wisdom  of 
the  Creator  in  keeping  human  life — like  that  of  the 
flowers  and  forests — fresh  by  incessant  renewals. 
We  soon  grow  too  old,  too  decrepit,  too  rutted  in 
our  habits,  too  prejudiced  by  our  past  opinions,  in 
every  way  too  "  slow  of  heart  "  to  be  of  service  in  a 
progressive  world.  Let  the  crinkled  leaves  be 
crowded  off  by  the  swelling  buds !  But  vicarious, 
that  is,  willing,  self -extinction  by  one  for  the  sake 


SOME  PRELIMINARIES  33 

of  another  is  a  different  thing.  In  it  the  best  and 
the  bravest  yield  up  the  joys  of  existence  for  the 
sake  of  those  who,  it  may  be,  are  utterly  unworthy 
of  them.  That  is  the  tragic  Promethean  fact  that 
no  philosophy  can  interpret. 

Yet  sometimes  there  comes  a  ray  through  the 
darkness.  It  is  where  the  suffering  has  been 
prompted  by  the  intense  love  that  makes  the  sacri- 
fice even  joyful.  In  such  case  the  surrendering 
soul  emerges  victor,  not  vanquished,  because  it 
yields  to  an  authority  greater,  nobler,  liolier  than 
any  natural  right  to  live. 

I  have  been  told  that  my  mother,  when  she  sur- 
mised from  the  face  of  the  physician  that  her  life 
and  that  of  her  child  could  not  both  be  saved, 
begged  him  to  spare  the  child.  Indeed,  though  the 
physician  did  not  intentionally  heed  her  request, 
he  yet  declared  that  but  for  her  relinquishment  of 
the  will  to  live  the  result  would  have  been  different. 
Yet  she  had  everything  to  live  for.  She  was  still 
young,  beautiful,  beloved  of  everybody,  with  tastes 
and  means  to  drink  deep  the  sweets  of  the  most 
cultured  life.  These  she  gave  up  that  another 
being,  one  whom  she  did  not  know,  might  have  the 
chance  of  plucking  some  of  the  flowers  of  this 
world. 

Was  it  altogether  self-sacrifice?  Though  un- 
known to  her,  that  babe  was  a  part  of  herself;  a 
part  of  her  physical  being,  knit  to  her  by  cords  of 
nerve;  a  part  of  her  soul  being  too,  for  she  had 
enwrapped  it  within  her  own  spirit,  knit  it  to  her 


34  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

by  cords  of  love  and  solicitude  and  prayer,  and 
imparted  to  it  somewhat  of  her  own  spirit  essence. 
I  lift  the  inquiry  higher : — Was  not  this  true  of 
the  intimate  relation  in  which  the  Christ  stood  to 
humanity?  Were  not  men  and  women  and  children 
His  very  own?  Was  it  not  predicted  of  Him  that 
He  should  "  see  of  the  travail  of  His  soul  and  be 
satisfied  "  even  in  dying  that  others  might  live? 
Is  not  God  more  than  a  Father  in  Heaven?  Is  He 
not  also  the  great  Mother-heart  of  the  sentient 
universe?  Perhaps  there  is  a  truth  that  lies  some- 
where back  of  Mariolatry.  The  form  of  that  dogma 
may  be  as  fanciful  as  the  clouds  that  veil  the  sun- 
set ;  but  the  sun  gilds  the  clouds.  The  mother-love 
of  God  is  a  fact.  Alas,  that  it  needs  a  human 
mother-love  to  make  us  tliink  of  it ! 

My  Invisible  Guide. 

I  am  not  a  spiritualist,  nor  do  I  worship  the 
saints.  But  as  I  look  back  over  my  long  life  and 
recall  my  many  waywardnesses,  any  one  of  which  if 
persisted  in  would  have  been  my  ruin,  and  when  I 
think  of  how  gently  I  have  been  turned  back  to  a 
better  course,  I  wonder  if  my  mother  has  not  guided 
me,  even  as  she  would  have  done  had  she  lived. 
"Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits,  sent  forth  to 
minister  to  them  who  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation?  " 
Where  do  the  blessed  ones  minister  to  men  still  on 
earth  if  not  in  the  places  to  which  their  interest 
attracts  them,  and  to  the  lives  that  were  once — and 
doubtless  are  still — as  dear  to  them  as  their  own? 


SOME  PKELIMINAKIES  35 

If  this  life  is  a  preparation  for  continued  life  and 
service  beyond,  what  prei)aration  can  match  that  of 
a  mother's  solicitude  and  love  and  sacrifice  for  her 
children? 

So  all  through  these  many  years  of  mine  I  have 
seldom  thanked  God  for  His  mercies  without  thank- 
ing Him  for  my  mother.  And  I  am  sure  that  He 
will  forgive  me  if  I  often  think  of  her  when  I  pray 
for  His  guidance, — as  Tennyson  thought  of  his 
vanished  comrade, — 

' '  Be  with  me  now, 
And  enter  in  at  breast  and  brow, 
Till  all  my  blood,  a  fuller  wave. 
Be  quickened  with  a  livelier  breath." 

Some  object  to  the  Biblical  precept,  "  Love  God 
with  all  thine  heart,"  alleging  that  it  is  impossible 
to  love  one  whom  we  have  not  seen ;  that  our  affec- 
tions need  the  accessories  of  face  and  form,  of  voice 
and  manner, — a  sort  of  trellis-work  upon  which 
our  hearts  climb  to  an  appreciation  of  their  object. 
A  ritualistic  friend  argues  similarly  for  the  neces- 
sity of  images  of  the  Christ,  since  love  cannot  grow 
its  tendrils  about  the  purely  ideal,  but  needs  the 
concrete  to  cling  to. 

I  am  sure  that  the  argument  is  not  valid.  I  never 
saw  my  mother.  I  do  not  possess  even  a  fair  pic- 
ture of  her.  She  passed  away  before  the  days  of 
photography.  An  artist  had  been  engaged  to  paint 
her  portrait.  One  day  he  made  a  hasty  profile 
sketch  with  a  pencil  as  a  preliminary  study;  but 


36  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

before  lie  began  his  real  work  she  was  gone.  A 
critic  observes  that  "the  secret  quality  of  a  face 
is  apt  to  slip  out  somehow  from  under  the  cun- 
ningest  i^ainter's  touch,  and  leave  the  portrait  dead 
for  lack  of  it."  Did  our  artist  catch  with  his  lead 
pencil  the  "secret  quality"  of  my  mother's  face? 
Presumably  not.  Yet  that  piece  of  paper  is  my 
only  suggestion  of  her  features. 

But  it  has  always  been  a  most  precious  heirloom. 
I  look  at  it,  and  in  imagination  try  to  recast  the 
features  so  as  to  express  my  ideal  of  her  character ; 
to  put  back  of  the  lines  an  adorable  something  that 
my  love  creates.  But  I  cannot  succeed.  My 
mother  is  only  an  ideal  to  me.  When  as  a  child  I 
visited  my  neighborhood  playmates  I  would  watch 
their  mothers,  and  wonder  if  mine  were  anything 
like  theirs;  then  go  back  to  my  home  and  cry  be- 
cause I  could  not  see  her  whom  I  loved  as  truly 
as  they  loved  theirs.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  the 
unfoi'med  image  in  my  mind  was  more  winsome 
to  me  than  the  visual  presence  was  to  them. 

We  have  never  seen  God.  There  is  no  verified 
picture  of  Christ.  But  surely  David  was  honest 
and  not  merely  making  a  Prayer  Book  when  he 
wrote,  "Whom  have  I  in  Heaven  but  Thee;  and 
there  is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside 
Thee."  And  Peter  rightly  described  hosts  of 
Christians  when  he  told  of  Jesus  "  Whom,  not  hav- 
ing seen,  ye  love." 


n 

EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS 

Memory  or  Imagination? 

IN  my  long  backward  look  I  find  that  the  mind 
lingers  most  fondly  over  the  events  of  early 
childhood.  These  recollections  are  also  the 
most  vivid.  It  may  be  that  persons  who  have  had 
extraordinary  careers,  who  have  heaved  big  events 
or  been  crushed  by  heavy  sacrifices,  recall  those 
things  most  prominently.  But  one  like  myself,  in 
whose  life-stream  there  have  been  no  Niagaras,  will 
be  apt  to  think  most  naturally  of  the  springs  in  the 
distant  hills,  the  early  confluents  where  the  waters 
of  companionship  first  mingled,  the  stretches  of 
still-water  mirrored  with  the  cloud-land  of  childish 
fancies,  the  overarching  forests  out  of  which  leaped 
upon  him  his  first  terrors,  and  the  little  valleys 
which  gave  direction  to  his  after  career. 

Perhaps  there  is  a  psychological  explanation  of 
our  clearer  remembrance  of  early  events.  To 
fasten  things  in  recollection  we  must  look  at  them 
long  enough  to  fix  our  attention.  The  mnemonic 
acid  must  cut  in.  The  attention  of  children  is 
forced  by  the  novelty  of  what  passes.  How  the 
first  track  of  the  skate  on  virgin  ice  stands  out !  I 
can  see  it  now  after  seventy  summers  have  melted 

37 


38  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

it  away.  The  first  clap  of  thunder  startles  us, 
while  the  thousand  subsequent  strokes  of  Thor's 
hammer  lose  their  distinctness  in  the  prolonged 
roar  of  the  storm. 

The  impressions  of  childhood  are  apt  to  repeat 
themselves  in  the  impressions  of  after  life.  They 
become,  as  it  were,  fundamental  draught-lines 
which  we  unconsciously  follow  in  later  thinking. 
Ruskin  noted  that  Turner's  great  Alpine  peaks 
showed  in  their  contour  and  color  a  suggestion  of 
the  Yorkshire  Hills  amid  whose  minor  beauties  he 
learned  to  paint.  A  biographer  of  Tennyson,  ex- 
plaining the  unabated  freshness  of  the  poet's  senti- 
ments and  imagery,  attributes  them  to  his  early  ex- 
periences as  an  observer  of  natui-e  and  a  connoisseur 
of  men  and  things, — the  shapes  of  his  impressions 
having  been  so  simple  and  decided  that  they  never 
changed.  "  First  emotions  are  life  emotions ;  how- 
ever the  current  flows,  the  source  is  the  same." 

There  may  also  be  a  physical  explanation  of  the 
vividness  with  which  we  retain  the  impression  of 
our  first  things.  A  difficulty  which  beset  the  in- 
ventor of  the  phonographic  disk  was  to  find  a  sub- 
stance which  would  most  readil}^  record  the  tiny 
sound-waves,  and,  at  the  same  time,  most  securely 
retain  the  almost  infinitesimal  indentations  they 
made.  The  inventor  of  the  human  brain  had  a 
similar  problem.  Everything  we  notice  records 
itself,  shall  we  say  by  a  scratch,  an  indentation, 
producing  some  molecular  change  in  the  cellular 
tissue.     The  child's  brain  is  marvellously  quick  to 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  39 

take,  and  as  marvellously  endowed  to  retain,  the 
impress  of  whatever  touches  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  old  age  the  brain  seems 
to  have  become  too  hard  to  receive  the  impression 
of  ordinary  things.  Hence  the  commonly  noticed 
failure  of  the  aged  to  recall  recent  occurrences, 
though  they  are  apt  to  be  full  of  reminiscence  of 
earlier  happenings.  My  father,  when  he  passed 
into  his  nineties,  became  unreliable  in  respect  to 
current  engagements.  He  could  read  for  the  third 
time  a  story  without  finding  anything  to  remind 
him  that  he  had  travelled  over  the  same  pages  be- 
fore. But  start  him  to  repeat  the  thread  of  an 
old-time  romance,  to  argufy  the  politics  of  Andrew 
Jackson  or  Henry  Clay,  to  describe  the  costumes 
prevailing  in  the  transition  period  between  knee- 
buckles  and  blue  swallow-tails  with  brass  buttons, 
it  was  like  reading  from  the  age-yellowed  pages  of  a 
newspaper  of  those  days. 

There  is  a  dispute  among  writers  as  to  the  earliest 
age  when  the  brain  is  sufficiently  hardened  to  make 
passing  impressions  into  permanent  recollections. 
John  Stuart  Mill  declared  that  he  couldn't  remem- 
ber when  he  couldn't  read  Greek.  He  was  not  "  an 
ordinary  man,"  but  one  of  those  prodigies  that  do 
not  concern  any  philosophy  we  may  indulge  in  in 
this  memoir.  After  questioning  many  lads  and 
lasses,  and  also  cross-examining  some  of  my  vener- 
able friends  in  their  at  least  twice-told  tales,  I 
incline  to  Jean  Paul  Richter's  opinion, — "  There 
are  in  men,  in  the  beginning  and  at  the  end,  as  in 


40  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

books,  two  blank  bookbinders'  leaves — childhood 
and  old  age." 

We  do  not  ordinarily  recall  things  that  occurred 
before  our  third  year.  Yet  we  sometimes  think  we 
do.     An  exi)erience  of  my  own  i)eri)lexes  me. 

On  my  brain  film  is  a  very  vivid  picture  of  a 
scene .  enacted  when  I  was  still  a  creeper.  My 
playroom  was  on  the  second  floor.  How  vividly  I 
can  see  it  now:  the  big  rocker,  the  tiny  crib,  the 
green  Venetian  window  blind !  My  nurse  had  put 
me  on  the  window  seat  which  reached  to  within  a 
few  inches  of  the  sill.  Over  this  sill  I  leaned  until 
I  lost  my  balance,  rolled  down  the  sloping  roof  of 
the  piazza,  and  lodged  in  the  bi*oad  trough  of  the 
gutter.  Looking  over  the  edge  of  this  I  saw  the 
bright  flowers  of  a  rose-bush  some  ten  feet  below. 
With  the  perversity  that  has  followed  me  through 
life,  I  tried  to  tumble  down  to  them.  The  nurse's 
screams  delighted  me.  Knowing  that  I  was  beyond 
her  reach,  I  experienced  my  first  thrill  of  personal 
liberty,  which  thrill  was  lessened  neither  by  the 
narrow  limitation  of  the  gutter,  nor  by  any  fear  of 
the  unknown  depth  below  me.  I  was  not  unlike 
certain  anarchists  who  are  so  enamored  of  their 
independence  that  they  are  willing  to  roll  into 
social  perdition.  I  can  to  this  day  see  the  broad 
face  of  my  Irish  nurse,  its  prevailing  red  turned 
white  with  fright.  I  can  recall  her  exact  pose  as 
she  thrust  her  broad  hips  through  the  window 
opening.  I  have  seen  her  a  thousand  times  as  she 
tried  to  crawl  down  to  me,  and  rejoiced  as  often 


EAKLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  41 

with  the  recollection  of  how  the  slanting  roof 
pitched  her  upon  her  nose,  lessening  by  at  least  a 
skin's  thickness  the  size  of  that  member,  which 
nature  had  already  sufficiently  curtailed  to  meet 
the  most  api)roved  tyjje  of  Hibernian  beauty.  She 
persisted  in  elongating  herself  until  her  fingers 
gripped  my  clothes.  There  she  lay  i3anting  out  her 
exhausted  energy,  until  my  father  oi)i)ortunely  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene,  grasped  her  by  the  feet,  and 
drew  us  both  to  safety. 

Now  all  this  I  could  swear  that  I  distinctly 
remember,  were  it  not  for  a  psychological  difficulty. 
At  that  early  age  I  could  not  have  had  a  sufficiently 
developed  sense  of  the  ludicrous  to  appreciate  the 
scene ;  yet  the  ludicrous  element  is  its  chief  feature 
in  my  recollection.  I  must  honestly  account  for 
my  seeming  precocity  by  the  fact  that  I  have  often 
heard  my  father  and  others  tell  that  story  of  my 
first  misadventure.  My  imagination,  excited  by  the 
picturesque  adormnents  of  the  tale,  became  reality ; 
just  as  in  process  engraving  shadow  pictures  are 
cut  into  the  plate. 

I  will  not  apologize  for  my  childish  illusion, 
since  some  of  my  most  veracious  friends,  who  have 
long  since  reached  years  of  discretion,  occasionally 
relate  as  their  personal  adventures  things  that  my 
grandfather  would  claim  to  belong  to  his  diary, 
recorded,  alas!  before  the  days  of  copyright.  We 
all  of  us  at  times  confound  our  memories  with  our 
imaginations,  just  as  stereopticon  lecturers  mix 
their  plates. 


42  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

The  late  Lawrence  Hutton  told  of  a  dinner  he 
attended  in  London,  at  which  James  Kussell  Lowell 
made  a  speech  whose  very  words  Hutton  could 
repeat.  "  Yet,"  adds  Hutton,  "  I  am  assured  that 
it  never  haj)i)ened  at  all.  I  can  find  no  one  who 
ever  heard  of  such  a  dinner."  Carl  Schurz  fre- 
quently told  of  the  immense  impression  made  upon 
him  at  a  Cabinet  meeting  by  Mr.  Lincoln's  vivid 
description  of  the  Moriiton-'s  fight  in  Hampton 
Roads.  But  he  afterwards  wrote, — "A  careful 
scrutiny  of  the  circumstances  convinced  me  at  last 
that  I  was  not  at  the  White  House  that  day.  This 
is  one  of  the  cases  Avhicli  have  made  me  very  anxious 
to  verify  my  memory  by  all  attainable  outside 
evidence." 

I  wonder — to  compare  little  things  with  great — if 
errors  similar  to  my  early  "  recollections  "  may  not 
have  occurred  in  connection  with  some  of  the  an- 
cient traditions  of  the  race.  Even  Herodotus, 
reverenced  as  the  Father  of  History,  runs  the  risk 
of  being  called  the  Father  of  Lies  in  narrating  as 
his  personal  observation  many  things  that  certainly 
belonged  to  earlier  legends,  which  legends  them- 
selves are  now  known  to  have  been  fables.  Possi- 
bly some  of  the  "  eye-witnesses  "  of  more  sacred 
events  have,  all  unconsciously,  colored  their  actual 
visions  with  the  popular  beliefs  or  current  interpre- 
tations of  the  facts,  and  have  thus  given  us  upon 
their  saintly  authority  that  which  Avould  not  now 
pass  the  test  of  real  historical  verity. 

Over  the  human  mind  there  has  always  rested  a 


i:arliest  kecollections  43 

mirage-making  atmosphere  tliat  brings  remote 
tilings  near,  and  is  apt  to  transform  arrant  fQ,ncies 
into  visual  realities.  The  Crusaders,  while  still  on 
the  far  distant  Rhine  hills,  declared  that  they  saw 
Jerusalem,  even  its  walls  and  temple.  English 
soldiers  have  sworn  that  in  a  recent  battle  in  Bel- 
gium Saint  George  appeared  in  shining  armor  to 
encourage  them.  Indeed,  the  legend  of  Saint 
George's  adventure  seems  to  have  been  a  mere  re- 
vival of  the  olden  Scandinavian  story  of  Siegfried 
slaying  a  similar  monster. 

It  has  generally  happened  with  the  visions  of  the 
saints,  especially  of  Mary  and  Christ,  that  they 
were  reproductions  of  the  pictures  in  the  churches 
with  which  the  ignorant  visionaries  were  familiar. 
We  may  thus  account  for  the  many  Descents  into 
Hell  recorded  by  our  ancestors  in  such  books  as 
those  of  Roger  of  Hovenden  and  Matthew  of  Paris. 
Though  Benvenuto  Cellini  was  a  most  artistic  liar 
in  some  respects,  we  need  not  think  of  him  as  delib- 
erately prevaricating  in  his  account  of  the  appari- 
tion of  Jesus  in  his  cell  in  San  Angelo.  Such 
sights  were  undoubtedly  real  experiences  in  the 
souls  of  the  observers;  but  so  also  the  clouds  and 
tree-tops  seen  in  pools  make  actual  pictures  on  the 
retina  though  they  are  not  really  down  there  in  the 
water.  The  sources  of  the  experience  can  be  ques- 
tioned without  disparaging  the  honesty  of  the  nar- 
rators.   Sincerity  is  not  a  test  of  truth. 


U  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

Children's  Lies. 

A  noted  preacher  once  said  tliat  all  children  are 
born  liars.  This  is  a  Calvinistic  slander,  unless  by 
a  lie  is  meant  everything  that  does  not  agree  with 
outward  fact,  however  innocent  the  utterer  may  be 
of  any  intention  to  deceive.  With  that  unscientific 
and  immoral  definition,  I  must  confess  to  have  been 
a  liar  from  infancy  to  at  least  adult  years;  for  I 
have  told  stories,  and  stuck  to  them  in  spite  of  dis- 
cipline, which  astound  me  in  the  recollection. 

A  child,  unless  he  is  a  dullard,  is  a  natural  ro- 
mancer. This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  his  mind  is 
more  active  than  his  senses,  so  that  his  outward 
knowledge  fails  to  supply  with  actual  facts  his 
inner  inventiveness.  In  after  life  there  is  a  nearer 
balance  between  mental  and  sense  perception.  In- 
deed, in  many  cases  the  man  becomes  so  engrossed 
in  merely  outward  things  that  his  imaginative  fac- 
ulty is  partly  atrophied  from  disuse.  But  in  child- 
hood it  is  the  reverse.  Limited  actual  observation 
of  the  world  fails  to  satisfy  the  inner  craving  for 
excitement.  The  grain  of  fact  runs  out,  so  that  the 
child  pours  into  his  mental  hopper  the  grist  of  mere 
fancy. 

In  my  short-clothes  days  we  had  not  many  picture 
books  in  the  nursery,  so  we  made  our  own  pictures 
as  we  could.  They  were  of  such  things  as  were 
never  seen  on  earth  nor  in  the  waters  under  the 
earth.  There  was  then  little  scientific  "milk  for 
babes,"  in  the  form  of  revelations  of  the  wonders  of 
the  physical  creation.     The  dinosaurians  had  not 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  45 

yet  crept  up  from  their  geological  habitats  and 
sprawled  themselves  over  the  pages  of  school-books. 
But  we  invented  their  rivals. 

One  night,  after  too  much  raisin  cake  for  supper, 
I  peopled  the  darkness  with  all  sorts  of  fantastic 
shapes,  which,  as  I  now  recall  them,  were  quite 
Dantesque.  One  creature  had  the  body  of  an  enor- 
mous serpent,  the  claws  of  a  cat  and  the  bill  of  a 
bird.  This  latter  function  was  armed  with  a  row 
of  teeth  that  would  have  been  the  envy  of  any  bully 
of  the  primeval  jungle.  Of  course,  I  made  myself 
slay  the  monster.  But  the  tussle  was  tremendous 
and  agonizing.  No  doubt  the  pillows  and  coverlets 
would  have  shown  how  I  wriggled  away  from  the 
crunch  of  the  monster ;  how  I  caught  and  held  from 
me  his  great  claws ;  how  I  fastened  his  jaws  wide 
open  with  my  dagger  just  at  the  moment  they  were 
about  to  snap  me  into  two.  I  have  never  had  a  more 
realistic  experience.  As  I  tell  the  story  I  feel  again 
the  fright  that  almost  i)aralyzed  me  as  I  grappled 
with  the  fearsome  object,  the  chill  and  heat  that 
alternately  coursed  up  and  down  my  spinal  column 
during  the  conflict,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  vic- 
tory. 

The  next  day  I  told  the  story  to  my  brothers.  A 
governess  overhearing  it  was  doubtless  horrified 
with  the  conviction  that  she  had  in  training  a  child 
of  the  devil  who  had  spent  the  night  with  infernal 
playmates.  She  reported  the  matter  to  my  father, 
to  whom  I  insisted  that  I  was  telling  only  the  truth. 
Upon  which,  he  being  more  orthodox  than  psycho- 


46  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

logic,  advised  me  to  paint  on  my  imagination  a 
place  of  fire  and  brimstone  as  something  likely  to  be 
real  in  my  future  experience. 

But  what  is  reality?  Simply  what  one  realizes. 
A  thought  that  sways  me,  a  fantasy  that  carries  me 
away,  a  mere  dream,  if  you  will,  is  more  real  to  me 
than  a  cyclone  through  which  I  have  slept  soundly. 
The  material  part  of  a  sunset  is  only  dust  and  mist 
particles,  but  the  glory  of  it  is  an  immensely  greater 
fact,  for  all  that  it  is  assayed  only  in  my  sentiment. 
Surely  beauty,  grandeur,  sublimity,  are  as  real  as 
the  mountains  or  the  sea  on  which  they  are  painted 
with  the  brush  of  my  a3sthetic  feeling.  Science  is  a 
reality ;  yet  it  is  not  an  outstanding  series  of  facts ; 
only  our  conception  of  an  order  in  the  universe  that 
may  have  no  more  truth  back  of  it  than  the  ancient 
cosmogonies  that  have  floated  away  like  other  mists 
of  the  early  morn.  Thales  was  not  the  less  a  philos- 
opher and  less  worthy  of  his  title  of  Father  of 
Science  because  his  four  elements,  earth,  air,  fire 
and  water,  were  not  elements  at  all.  Let  us  be  just 
to  those  who  encircled  the  world  with  the  river 
Oceanus  as  a  watery  horizon ;  who  saw  through  the 
phosphorescent  waves  the  gleaming  trident  of  Nep- 
tune commanding  the  seas ;  who  turned  their  prows 
in  fright  from  the  cave  where  ^olus  kept  the  tem- 
pests; who  read  the  entrails  of  beasts  as  the  hiero- 
glyphic prophecies  of  future  events,  and  followed 
the  wandering  of  Ulysses  among  the  isles  of  Calypso 
and  Circe,  and  over  the  pasture  lands  of  the  sun,  as 
credulously  as  we  follow  Stanley  among  the  pigmy 


EARLIEST  KECOLLECTIONS  47 

tribes  of  Africa  or  Nanseii  among  the  floating 
islands  that  girt  the  North  Pole.  Homer,  Hesiod 
and  Ovid,  the  authors  of  the  Babylonian  and  He- 
brew stories  of  creation,  Virgil,  Milton  and  Dante, 
and  the  singers  of  the  Sagas  of  the  Northland  were 
only  the  dreamers  of  the  race  during  its  childhood 
or  adolescence,  yet  what  they  told  became  the  deter- 
minative forces  of  much  of  human  history. 

We  are  now  critically  examining  the  old  Bible 
records  with  the  purpose  to  reject  whatever  cannot 
demonstrate  its  literal  exactness.  Criticism  should 
be  careful  lest  in  its  iconoclastic  zeal  it  destroy 
genuine  and  imjiortant  history,  namely,  that  of  the 
convictions — dreams,  if  you  will — of  the  men  who 
once  lived  under  the  spell  of  ancient  oracles.  We 
shall  thus  lose  more  of  value  than  we  shall  gain  if 
we  succeed  in  melting  the  seals  off  all  apocryjihal 
scripture.  Our  very  superstitions  belong  to  the  his- 
tory of  truth ;  they  are  essential  to  the  biography  of 
humanity  and  cannot  be  omitted  without  detriment 
to  the  fidelity  of  the  record. 

A  Young  Anarcliist. 

That  I  did  not  grow  up  to  become  an  anarchist 
was  not  due  to  my  first  school-teacher.  She  was  a 
lovely  woman,  soft-eyed,  soft-cheeked,  soft-handed, 
soft-spoken,  all  because  she  was  a  soft-hearted  crea- 
ture. She  was  a  rigid  disciplinarian,  according  to 
her  code,  but  not  in  administration.  She  was  per- 
petually inflicting  punishments  that  didn't  punish. 
When  she  scolded,  which  she  thought  she  was  doing 


48  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAT 

veliemently,  she  was  like  Bottom  as  the  lion,  who 
would  "  roar  you  as  gently  as  any  sucking  dove." 

I  had  done  something  wrong,  and  was  made  to 
hold  out  my  hand  for  the  due  reward  of  my  deeds. 
A  tiny  whip  of  the  size  of  a  broomwisp  and  the 
weight  of  a  shoe-string  fell  thrice  upon  my  flesh.  I 
was  disappointed.  I  thought  a  whipping  was  of 
more  consequence  than  that.  I  felt  that  my  teacher 
hadn't  credited  me  with  j)luck.  She  ought  at  least 
to  have  made  me  wince,  stiffen  my  lips,  and  grind 
my  heel  on  the  floor.  I  was  underrated,  insulted, 
and  that  in  the  presence  of  another  little  fellow  who 
thought  he  had  licked  me  the  day  before. 

I  watched  my  chance  to  merit  a  heavier  punish- 
ment, something  one  could  feel,  and  be  willing  to 
talk  about  afterward  if  only  he  didn't  cry.  I  per- 
petrated some  awful,  horrible,  atrocious  bit  of 
naughtiness — the  adjectives  describe  my  purpose, 
not  the  deed,  although  I  have  forgotten  what  it  was. 
Reformation  through  corporal  punishment  having 
so  signally  failed  in  my  case,  the  mistress  endeav- 
ored to  shame  me  out  of  my  wickedness.  She 
threatened  to  make  me  sit  in  the  next  room  with 
the  girls.  Through  the  open  door  I  caught  a  loving 
glance  from  one  of  the  little  misses  who  happened 
to  live  next  door  to  me,  and  of  whom  I  was  very 
fond.  That  glance  was,  as  in  more  classic  instances, 
my  undoing.  I  at  once  repeated  my  crime,  and  had 
a  delightful  half-hour  holding  the  hand  of  my  in- 
amorata under  the  fold  of  her  frock. 

I  was  at  that  time  laying  the  foundation  for  my 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  49 

ideas  of  government.  The  "  powers  that  be,"  such 
as  Kings,  Policemen,  Generals  and  Schoolma'ams, 
it  seemed  to  me  were  ordained  only  to  break  the 
monotony  of  other  people's  lives  by  j^roviding  them 
with  new  sensations — the  first  plank  in  the  plat- 
form of  my  political  economy. 

I  was  encouraged  by  my  experience  to  pursue 
further  the  investigation  of  this  great  problem.  I 
committed  another  offense.  Now  I  was  to  be  vis- 
ited with  the  utmost  severity,  put  through  the  final 
degree,  until  my  soul  should  be  racked  into  submis- 
sion. 

I  was  shut  up  in  the  dark  closet!  Had  I  ever 
heard  of  the  saying  I  should  have  expected  to  read 
over  that  dungeon  portal,  "  Abandon  hope  ye  that 
enter  here."  I  anticipated  the  solitude  of  ear-split- 
ting silence;  but  the  cheerful  voice  of  a  darkey 
mammy  singing  in  the  adjacent  kitchen  prevented 
that  catastrophe.  I  set  out  to  explore  with  my 
hands  my  unknown  environs.  What  awful  recesses, 
deep  caverns,  ghostly  bats  and  unimaginable  things 
ought  to  be  in  the  dark  closet!  Suddenly  my  fin- 
gers slipped  into  something  soft.  I  smelt  the  stuff. 
Goody!  Pumpkin-pie!  I  was  incarcerated  in  the 
pantry !  Never  was  a  mouse  happier.  I  did  not  ask 
to  see.  Touch,  smell,  taste,  were  all  the  senses  I 
needed.  I  only  feared  that  the  mistress  would  re- 
lent of  her  cruelty  to  me  before  I  had  scraped  the 
bottom  crust. 

I  served  my  time  in  the  pantry  cell,  and  was  led 
out  into  liberty.     My  sleeve,  with  which  I  had 


50  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

wiped  my  moutli,  presented  the  annals  of  a  solitary 
confinement  with  which  the  story  of  Silvio  Pellico 
in  the  Spielburg  and  that  of  Picciola  and  his  flower 
do  not  compare.  Bnt  the  eyes  of  my  teacher  were 
so  full  of  tears  over  my  sufferings  that  she  didn't 
notice  the  sleeve. 

This  method  of  imparting  to  a  youngster  proper 
ideas  of  Law  and  Order,  due  respect  for  Authority, 
and  a  wholesome  realization  that  "  the  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  hard,"  might  do  for  the  training  of 
rabbits,  but  not  for  young  hyenas  and  foxes,  to 
which  ancestral  races  most  of  us  hmnans  seem  to 
belong.  That  school  might  have  been  preparatory 
to  an  after  course  in  the  university  of  BlackwelFs 
Island. 

In  spite  of  modern  theories,  and  judging  from 
my  own  case,  a  better  discipline  would  have  been  a 
series  of  sound  spankings  laid  on  by  a  masculine 
hand ;  thus  imparting  intelligence  and  discipline  by 
what  the  scientists  would  call  the  Process  of  Induc- 
tion, or  which  the  metaphysicians  would,  perhaps, 
regard  as  a  practical  application  of  the  a  posteriori 
method. 

First  Physical  Pain. 

John  Morley  quotes  approvingly  the  words  of 
George  Meredith,  "We  lose  a  proper  sense  of  the 
richness  of  life,  if  we  do  not  look  back  on  the  scenes 
of  our  youth  with  imaginative  warmth."  One  of  my 
recollections  does  not  lack  the  sensation  of  warmth. 
I   was   scarcely   able   to   run   when   that   exploit 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  51 

brought  me  to  my  first  experience  of  bodily  suffer- 
ing. Since  tlien  I  liave  felt  most  of  the  screws  on 
the  rack  of  torture,  from  toothache  to  gout ;  but  the 
terror  of  such  agonies  has  been  somewhat  mitigated 
by  the  memory  of  primitive  discipline. 

It  was  before  the  general  introduction  of  butlers' 
pantry  sinks  i)iped  for  hot  water ;  at  least  such  an 
Etnean  supply  had  not  yet  been  i)ut  into  our  house. 
The  kitchen  goddess  was  accustomed  to  bring  into 
the  dining-room  an  immense  caldron  of  boiling 
water  in  which  the  dishes  were  washed  before  being 
ornamentally  disposed  on  the  shelf.  Unfortunately 
I  encountered  the  maid  as  she  was  bearing  this  port- 
able lavatory  through  a  narrow  passage,  with  the 
result  that  several  gallons  of  the  steaming  fluid  del- 
uged me.  A  great  scar  on  my  neck  is  a  fragmentary 
memorial  of  the  accident ;  but  I  do  not  have  to  look 
at  that  to  revive  the  remembrance  of  the  agony  of 
forty  days.  It  helps  me  to  a  degree  of  equanimity  in 
keeping  a  promise  I  recently  made  to  an  Italian 
priest  that  I  would  read  a  little  book  he  had  given 
me  as  a  warning  against  my  heretical  tendencies. 
It  was  Saint  Alfonso  Maria  de  Liguori's  Medita- 
tions, one  chapter  of  which  is  entitled  Delia  Fine, 
and  describes  purgatorial  "  fire  in  the  eyes,  fire  in 
the  mouth,  fire  everywhere."  During  my  lifetime  I 
have  had  a  delight  in  the  smell  of  castor  oil  and 
lime-water,  the  mixture  that  solaced  my  pains  dur- 
ing those  dreary  weeks  when  I  lay  like  a  snake  in 
his  den  literally  casting  my  old  skin  and  taking  on  a 
new  one.    That  early  experience  has  undoubtedly 


52  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

made  me  more  heroic  as  I  have  often  been  metaphor- 
ically in  hot  water  since. 

First  Contact  With  Greatness. 

The  residence  of  General  Winfield  Scott  was  not 
far  from  our  home.  I  had  never  as  yet  looked  upon 
the  renowned  warrior,  but  my  faculty  of  a^jprecia- 
tion  Avas  stunned  by  the  reports  of  his  deeds.  He 
had  taken  "  with  his  arms "  the  city  of  Mexico. 
What  tremendous  arms  he  must  have!  When  my 
father  read  at  morning  prayers  how  a  king  of  Baby- 
lon had  "  carried  away  all  Jerusalem,"  I  wondered 
if  he  or  Scott  were  the  bigger.  I  knew  about  Gul- 
liver and  also  about  the  giant  that  Jack  killed,  and 
was  prepared  to  expect  some  tremendous  vision 
when  the  General  should  arrive  home  from  the  war. 
I  was  disajipointed  when  I  saw  him.  To  be  sure  he 
was  a  big  man,  made  broader  by  the  epaulettes  that 
I)arapeted  his  shoulders,  and  taller  by  his  cocked 
hat  and  feathers ;  and  the  fanfare  of  trumpets  and 
drums  that  played  "  Lo,  the  Conquering  Hero 
Comes  "  seemed  to  blow  him  up  to  greater  dimen- 
sions. But  he  Avas  really  no  bigger  than  the  giant  I 
had  seen  at  Barnum's. 

I  imagined  that  there  must  be  some  terrible 
power  condensed  somewhere  in  his  body.  Maybe  he 
would  explode  at  times  as  gunpowder  does.  So 
while  the  General  was  passing  in  the  procession  I 
kept  behind  my  slightly  bigger  brother  for  safety. 
As  there  was  no  explosion  beyond  the  outcries  of 
the  crowd  I  felt  that  greatness  was  a  cheat. 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  53 

A  few  days  later  my  brother  and  I  were  chasing 
our  ball  in  front  of  the  General's  house.  By  chance 
the  ball  rolled  through  the  hedge  into  the  demesne 
of  the  terrible  man.  What  should  we  do?  My 
brother  was  as  daring  as  I  was  impudent,  so  he 
yielded  to  my  urging,  summoned  all  his  courage 
into  his  spine,  and  crawled  through  the  hedge.  Hor- 
ror of  horrors !  The  colossus  himself  was  sitting  in 
a  garden  chair  close  to  the  hedge.  He  seized  my 
brother  by  the  waistband  of  his  breeches,  and  lifted 
him  over  the  hedge  to  the  sidewalk.  "My  lad," 
said  he,  "  you  shouldn't  bombard  a  man  in  his  own 
castle.  Suppose  your  ball  had  been  a  cannon-ball 
and  had  struck  me !  " 

While  I  breathed  more  freely  since  no  terrible 
thing  had  happened,  I  felt  a  sort  of  contempt  for 
Great  Scott.  If  the  mighty  man  had  only  crushed 
a  bone  or  two  in  my  brother's  body,  or  flung  the  in- 
truder over  the  top  of  the  house,  it  would  have 
been  in  keeping  with  my  ideal  of  greatness.  But, 
think  of  it !  He  had  only  broken  the  waistband  of 
his  breeches !  My  awe  was  punctured.  Some  day  I 
would  pepper  the  General  with  my  bean-thrower. 

My  brother  had  his  revenge.  A  day  or  two  after 
the  General  stopped  us  little  tots  on  the  street. 

"  See  here,  my  lad !  Aren't  you  the  boy  that  in- 
vaded my  lawn?  " 

How  my  muscles  stiffened !  The  General  laughed 
heartily,  and  patting  my  brother  on  the  head,  said 
kindly,  "  You  must  be  more  cautious  next  time,  and 
not  have  so  many  pins  stuck  in  your  belly  baud." 


54  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

Wliat  is  greatness?  The  question  thus  started  in 
my  mind  has  never  yet  been  satisfactorily  answered, 
and  few  biographies  help  toward  the  solution. 

First  Lesson  in  Patriotism. 

I  was  perhaps  six  years  old  when  I  received  the 
first  impression  that  I  was  living  in  a  world  of  an- 
tagonisms. Everything  external  had  heretofore 
gone  smoothly.  Everybody  chucked  me  under  the 
chin.  I  hadn't  yet  read  about  Blue  Beard,  and 
wouldn't  have  believed  in  the  existence  of  such  a 
monster  if  I  had  laiown  the  story.  But  suddenly  I 
was  made  to  realize  that  society  is  divided  into  fac- 
tious; that  nations  are  like  diverse  species  of  wild 
beasts,  snarling  and  snapping  at  one  another  for 
possession  of  the  bones  of  self-interest.  As  in  a 
spasm,  my  puny  soul  muscles  suddenly  became 
knotted  for  conflict. 

The  change  came  about  in  this  way.  My  old 
grandmother  had  come  to  visit  us.  She  had  a  won- 
derful face,  full  of  kindness,  eloquent  with  wrin- 
kles, framed  in  a  big  white  cap  that,  like  a  nimbus 
of  light,  covered  her  head  to  the  chin.  She  was  a 
splendid  story-teller.  Nearing  her  own  second 
childhood  she  had  that  leisurely  garrulous  style 
that  so  pleases  first  childhood.  While  she  was  in 
our  house  fairies  seemed  to  look  into  the  windows  at 
night,  and  the  chimney  swallows  twittered  like  baby 
angels  back  of  the  fire-board.  She  talked  about 
birds  and  bunnies,  about  good  children  and  loving 
mammas,  until  one  would  imagine  the  whole  world 


EAKLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  55 

a  harmless  Paradise  where  there  was  not  even  a 
garter-snake  or  a  wart-toad  to  harm  us. 

But  one  afternoon  she  took  me  to  the  top  of  the 
house,  and  helped  me  climb  a  tall  chair.  She  bade 
me  look  far  away  to  a  white  gleam  of  water. 

"  That's  it,"  said  she. 

For  a  long  time  she  gazed.  I  thought  she  had 
forgotten  me. 

"  What  is  it  you  see,  grandma?  " 

"  Why,  that  is  the  Sound  off  yonder.  I  wanted  to 
see  it  once  more  before  I  died.  When  I  was  a  wee 
little  girl,  about  as  big  as  you  are  now,  I  one  day 
walked  with  my  father  from  way  back  in  the  coun- 
try to  the  shore  to  get  a  sight  of  the  old  British 
prison  ship  Jersey.  My  uncle  was  confined  and 
tortured  on  that  horrible  vessel  for  months  during 
the  Revolutionary  War." 

I  can  never  forget  that  hour,  as  I  stood  on  the 
high  chair,  grinding  my  elbows  against  the  win- 
dow-sill, with  my  eyes  strained  toward  a  spot  in 
the  direful  distance,  and  listened  to  what  she  told 
me  of  the  trying  days  of  her  girlhood;  of  her 
father's  property  ruined,  her  relatives  killed ;  of  how 
John got  his  wooden  leg,  and  Peter 


lost  his  eyes  in  battle  and  went  all  the  rest  of  his 
life  totally  blind.  When  1  went  to  bed  that  night  I 
could  not  sleep,  but  rehearsed  all  the  pictures  she 
had  painted,  deepening  in  my  imagination  the 
blood-red  colors,  and  twisting  into  worse  contor- 
tions the  writhing  horrors  of  the  battle-field.  I  have 
since  seen  thousands  of  the  wounded,  and,  as  I 


56  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

write  there  lie  before  me  the  morning  journals  with 
casualty  statistics  from  the  bloodiest  war-field  of  all 
history ;  but  my  grandmother's  story  cut  deeper  into 
my  heart,  because  it  was  my  first  impression  of  the 
age-long  story  of  "man's  inhumanity  to  man."  I 
can  now,  after  all  these  years,  when  I  am  as  old  as 
she  was  then,  still  feel  the  touch  of  the  old  lady's 
hand  on  my  head,  and  hear  her  voice  as  she  bade  me 
never  forget  what  it  cost  to  make  our  country. 
Hundreds  of  times  since  I  have  seen  that  prison 
ship  iioating  in  the  lagoons  of  light  on  the  horizon, 
and  have  watched  the  clouds  sailing  in  like  the 
navies  of  invaders.  Some  of  the  iron  of  that  grand 
Eevolutionary  soul  must  have  gotten  into  my  blood, 
and,  rusting  there,  i)roduced  a  sort  of  chronic  patri- 
otic irritability.  That  day  I  became  a  citizen, 
rather  than  fifteen  years  later  when  I  passed  my 
majority  and  cast  my  first  vote. 

First  Flare  of  the  Grand  Flame. 

I  was  about  six  years  old  when  my  heart  burst 
with  that  spontaneous  combustion  called  Love.  The 
warmth  of  the  flame  was  so  congenial  that,  twenty 
years  later,  Avhen  I  was  consumed  with  a  greater 
fire  of  the  same  sort,  I  thought  at  least  smilingly  of 
the  earlier  experience. 

She  was  a  beautiful  child; — so  I  then  thought; 
though  in  after  years,  when  I  had  become  more 
artistic  regarding  physiognomical  symmetries  and 
proportions,  I  concluded  that  she  must  have  been 
copied  from  some  badly  patched  pattern  of  the  gen- 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  5T 

uine  Venus.  But  the  tendrils  of  my  affectionate 
nature  liad  to  have  something  to  climb  uj>on,  else, 
like  those  of  certain  other  plants,  they  should  grow 
soggy  and  moribund.  My  Sylvia  rescued  me  from 
such  a  fatality,  as  vines  have  been  saved  by  the 
proximity  of  a  rock  or  bramble  bush. 

We  two  played  together,  kissed  through  many 
dozens  of  wreaths — as  we  heard  they  did  in  the 
Orient,  vowed  eternal  fidelity,  and  protested  against 
the  snail-like  progress  of  the  years,  which,  instead 
of  the  speeding  steeds  of  Queen  Mab,  would  bring  us 
to  the  connubial  Paradise. 

But  the  web  which  my  little  favorite  was  weaving 
about  me,  being  as  yet  only  the  thinnest  gossamer 
threads,  was  suddenly  broken.  The  calamity  thus 
came  about.  We  Avere  playing  at  the  top  of  a  long 
flight  of  stairs.  On  the  landing  at  our  backs  was  a 
tall  grandfather's  clock.  We  had  been  warned  of 
the  danger  of  examining  too  intimately  such  an- 
cestral remains.  Who  knew  what  family  skeleton 
might  not  leap  out  of  it?  The  monotonous  ticking 
seemed  to  us  like  the  scratching  of  ghosts,  and  when 
the  hammer  struck  the  hour  on  the  coiled  wire 
sounding-sirring,  it  seemed  to  knell  out  the  hoiu'  of 
doom. 

But  my  inamorata  was  a  true  daughter  of  Pan- 
dora, and  against  my  frantic  appeals  she  opened  the 
great  door  of  the  clock.  She  was  swinging  the  long 
pendulum  to  make  it  go  faster  and  hasten  our 
halcyon  day,  when  the  entire  fabric  toppled  over.  It 
crashed  doAvn  the  flight  of  stairs,  carrying  us  both 


58  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

along  with  it  in  tlie  melee  of  its  broken  case  and  dis- 
jointed "  innards." 

My  bruised  head  and  well-skinned  elbows  and 
knees  in  turn  wounded  my  sentimental  feeling; 
while  the  caterwauling  of  my  lady — who  I  jealously 
noted  was  unhurt — seemed  to  add  insult  to  the  in- 
jury she  had  done  me.  My  belief  in  her  angelic 
qiuilities  was  quickly  changed  into  a  sus^^icion  that 
she  was  a  little  imp  of  darkness  whom  I  had  better 
avoid.  Moreover,  her  parents,  standing  amid  the 
ruins  of  their  old  heirloom,  vented  their  wrath  upon 
me  as  the  male,  and  therefore  the  responsible,  cul- 
prit ;  the  father  even  gave  vent  to  a  cuss-word  about 
"  that  awkward  boy." 

I  was  completely  disillusioned;  but  for  a  long 
time  was  more  thoroughly  dejected  than  I  have  ever 
been  with  any  subsequent  defeat  of  the  "  grand  pas- 
sion "  on  a  similar  field. 

The  love-twitterings  of  babes;  how  trifling!  you 
say.  Not  so.  Such  things  are  not  to  be  measured 
by  the  size  of  their  causes  or  consequences,  but  by 
their  relation  to  the  capacity  for  endurance  pos- 
sessed by  those  who  are  subject  to  them.  Possibly 
the  suffering  of  a  fly  being  devoured  piecemeal  by 
a  spider  is  not  surpassed  by  the  torture  of  a  human 
victim  thrown  to  the  lions.  A  child's  soul  may  be  a 
tiny  thing  compared  with  its  subsequent  develop- 
ment, but  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  hopes  and  de- 
spairs, are  not  less  significant  to  itself,  nor  less  de- 
terminative of  character  and  disposition,  than  are 
the  delights  and  griefs,  the  triumiihs  and  defeats  of 


EAKLIEST  KECOLLECTIONS  59 

after  youth  and  manhood.  When  in  later  life  we 
review  our  whole  campaign,  what  we  set  down  as 
only  preliminary  skirmishes  loom  up  as  the  greater 
battles,  especially  if  we  were  wounded  in  the  earlier 
combats. 

Loneliness. 

Most  children  probably  get  their  first  real  shivers 
of  loneliness  when  they  read  of  Robinson  Crusoe  on 
his  desolate  island.  I  was  prepared  to  appreciate 
the  solitude  described  in  that  book  by  some  previous 
sensations  of  my  own. 

When  about  eight  years  old  I  was  sent  into  the 
country  for  a  vacation.  As  a  relative  was  to  meet 
me  at  the  railroad  station  and  drive  me  across  the 
country  to  his  farm,  I  went  alone  in  the  train.  On 
alighting  at  the  platform  called  a  depot  I  found  no 
one  who  knew  me.  I  waited  an  hour  looking  down 
the  roads,  but  saw  nothing  more  cheerful  than  the 
gathering  dusk.  A  passing  farmer  gave  me  the 
direction,  but  as  he  was  going  the  other  way  I  got 
no  lift. 

That  farmer's  description  of  the  road  I  must 
tramp  is  still  my  most  vivid  itinerary  of  travel,  al- 
though as  a  globe-trotter  I  have  memorized  such 
things  pertaining  to  almost  all  the  longitudes  and 
latitudes.    Here  it  is, — said  the  man : 

"  A  half-mile  down  the  track,  my  boy,  is  a  cross 
wood-road.  Turn  to  the  left  by  a  lumber-pile.  Go 
a  quarter  of  a  mile,  then  wind  about  by  an  old  de- 
serted house.     No,  don't  be  afraid;  there  are  no 


60  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

bogies  there.  Footpath  across  a  big  meadow  and 
into  the  woods.  A  half-mile  through  them  pines, 
and  there  you  are.  White  house.  Can't  miss  it. 
Ain't  any  other  in  sight.  Good-bye,  sonny !  Luck 
to  you ! " 

A  more  dismal  Thank  you !  than  mine  was  never 
wheezed  from  a  human  throat.  I  cough  to  think 
of  it  even  after  these  years. 

That  half-mile  of  railroad  track!  The  road 
through  Siberia  is  not  longer.  I  counted  every  tie 
I  stepped  on,  just  to  crowd  out  other  thoughts  that 
the  very  winds  were  blowing  into  my  brain.  I 
walked  the  rail  to  convince  myself  that  I  still  had 
my  nerve  with  me,  and  wasn't  going  to  be  thrown 
off  my  balance  by 

But  what  was  that?  An  express  roaring  around 
a  curve,  its  headliglit  catching  sight  of  me  like  the 
eye  of  some  wild  beast;  and  I  was  on  a  steep  em- 
bankment. There  was  nothing  for  me  but  to  give  it 
the  right  of  way.  In  doing  so  I  slid  down  into  a 
patch  of  blackberry  bushes  that  lay  in  ambush  for 
me  at  the  bottom  of  the  structure.  I  can  now  al- 
most detect  the  scratches  among  the  wrinkles  on  my 
hands. 

Scrambling  back  to  the  track  I  came  to  a  cross- 
road; but  there  was  no  lumber-pile  such  as  my 
guide  had  told  me  of.  My  poor  brain  began  to 
swirl  with  uncertainty.  My  bewilderment  was  not 
relieved  by  the  counsel  of  a  grunting  woodchuck,  a 
beast  I  had  never  seen,  nor  by  the  cawing  of  some 
belated  crows,  which  I  thought  might  be  the  buz- 


EARLIEST  KECOLLECTlOISfS  61 

zards  such  as  I  had  heard  soinetiiiies  waited  for  a 
man  to  die  that  they  might  pick  his  bones. 

I  sat  down  to  try  to  thinlv.  If  that  wood-jjile  had 
only  been  here !  Maybe  I  must  walk  a  long  way  to 
another  cross-road.  Maybe  I  shouldn't.  I  pulled 
up  some  grass.  It  was  yellow,  half  killed  by  some- 
thing that  had  lain  on  it.  Examination  showed  the 
outlines  of  the  wood-pile  which  had  been  removed. 
The  birds  that  Columbus  saw  on  approaching  land 
were  not  more  welcome  than  that  yellow  grass. 

It  was  spooky  dark  when  I  started  along  the 
wheel-road  through  the  woods.  Yet  it  was  a  path 
of  revelations.  I  never  knew  before  how  much  a 
stump  resembles  a  bear;  nor  what  a  hideous, 
crunching,  elephantine  noise  a  jack-rabbit  makes 
when  he  jumps  through  the  dry  leaves;  nor  how  a 
chipmunk  can  elongate  himself  into  a  ten-foot  snake 
when  he  darts  across  a  path;  nor  what  flocks  of 
ghosts  the  evening  zei)hyr  can  imitate  when  it 
soughs  its  way  between  the  trees  and  over  the 
crackly  dried  grass ;  nor  what  solid  things  shadows 
may  become;  nor  what  fiendish  voices  the  screech- 
owls  have  when  they  wake  u^i  for  their  nighting. 

There  loomed  up  the  outline  of  a  house.  The 
deserted  house!  No  bogies  there?  If  there  were 
none,  why  did  the  man  speak  of  them?  Some  folks 
must  believe  they  were  there.  And  I  must  cross  the 
la"\vn  and  go  around  the  house !  I  tried  to  run,  but 
my  legs  were  paralyzed.  An  old  well-sweep  shook 
itself  at  me,  and  tried  to  lasso  me  with  its  chain 
and  bucket.    A  gate  leading  to  the  back  lot  swore  at 


62  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

me  with  its  creaking  hinges.  The  terrors  of  the 
open  field  made  me  haste  to  the  shelter  of  the  woods 
a  little  way  off,  and  the  woods  frightened  me  back 
to  the  oi^en. 

At  length  I  entered  that  most  fearsome  forest. 
The  old  pines  were  crii)pled  giants  chasing  me  with 
their  broken  limbs  for  clubs.  A  fox  scudded  almost 
betAveen  my  legs  in  his  flight  from  something  worse 
than  himself. 

What  that  something  was  I  was  soon  to  know. 
There  was  a  low  growl  or  whine.  A  black  outline  of 
something  moving.  Two  sparks  of  fire  about  as  far 
apart  as  the  eyes  of  a  panther  might  be.  I  sank 
down. 

The  next  moment  I  was  conscious  of  a  cold  nose 
on  my  eheek  and  a  warm  tongue  licking  my  face. 
Then  the  beast  danced  about  me  with  the  glee  of  one 
who  has  found  his  long-lost  brother.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  dashed  ahead,  and  barking,  led  the  way 
along  a  path  that  I  could  scarcely  see,  out  into  the 
meadow,  across  a  pasture  lot,  and  up  to  the  farm- 
house door.  With  ecstatic  yelps  he  announced  my 
coming  to  my  relative,  who  had  mistaken  by  a  day 
the  date  for  my  arrival. 

Almost  every  boy  who  ventures  beyond  the  apron 
strings  has  had  similar  exploits.  That  is  the  reason 
I  mention  it.  How  lasting  are  the  impressions  such 
commonplace  things  make  upon  us!  Ever  since 
that  night  I  have  felt  that  dogs  were  in  a  sort  of 
kinship  with  me.  We  own  them  by  more  than  prop- 
erty right,  as  a  man  owns  his  children,  his  friends, 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  63 

liis  neighbors,  his  fellow-workers.  In  the  Happy 
Hunting  Grounds,  the  Indian  quite  naturally  be- 
lieves 

"His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company." 

Query : — Did  that  dog  have  any  prognosis  of  my 
coming,  and  so  go  out  to  meet  me?  Is  the  brute 
soul  so  little  emerged  from  the  realm  of  the  uni- 
versal subconscious,  which  psychologists  imagine  to 
be  the  realm  of  all  knowledge,  that  the  creature 
knew  intuitively  what  his  master  had  not  learned 
by  the  mail?  A  dog  that  I  now  own  sits  looking  at 
me  with  great  soulful  eyes.  Is  he  trying  to  catch 
on  to  my  thoughts,  wishing  that  he  too  might  be  in- 
telligent and  understand  me ;  or  is  he  rather  yearn- 
ing to  tell  me  something  I  do  not  know, — something 
he  sees  in  those  depths  which  are  clear  to  him,  but 
which  we  humans  cannot  discern  because  our  rest- 
less intelligence  so  frets  the  surface  of  simple  and 
more  certain  knowledge?  Maybe  dogs'  eyes  are 
pools  of  divination  to  search  which  men  have  not 
yet  acquired  the  art. 

How  many  times  in  my  dreams,  mostly  waking 
dreams,  I  have  tramped  over  that  old  country 
road !  When  stranded  in  a  foreign  port  and  hearing 
only  the  babble  of  strange  tongues;  when,  having 
missed  my  travelling  companions,  I  have  sailed 
alone  over  unfamiliar  seas ;  when  I  have  been  cut  off 
from  my  caravan  by  intruding  Arabs ;  when  I  have 
been  mystified  and  lost  in  the  problem  of  life's  great 
road,  where  it  leads  to,  and  who  engineered  it, — 


64  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

then  I  seem  to  be  travelling  again  along  that  old 
road,  wondering  whether  I  am  up  against  stumps  or 
bears,  being  chewed  by  a  panther  or  kissed  by  a  dog. 

The  World  Breaking  In. 

It  is  difficult  for  young  children  to  think  of  the 
world  as  different  from  their  own  immediate  en- 
vironment, except  that  it  is  larger.  At  that  age  we 
are  like  primitive  men  who  imagined  that  the  cave- 
cliff  on  which  they  lived  was  the  centre-pole  of  the 
universe,  and  that  the  very  stars  swung  round  it. 
If  his  home  is  a  happy  one,  the  child  conceives  that 
the  everywhere  must  also  be  beautiful,  well-fur- 
nished, friendly  and  safe.  It  is  not  until  some  one 
with  whom  he  is  familiar  comes  home  mutilated,  or 
sends  the  sad  tidings,  that  he  realizes  that  civiliza- 
tion is  still  crude  and  dangerous. 

I  was  about  eight  years  old  when  my  disillusion- 
ing came.  A  brother,  some  twelve  years  older  than 
I,  was  taken  with  the  "  California  fever,"  that  epi- 
demic of  1849,  and  joined  one  of  the  pioneer  com- 
panies for  a  tramp  across  the  continent  to  the  land 
of  gold.  After  the  party,  which  consisted  of  some 
sixty  men,  had  left  the  Mississippi  Valley  nothing 
was  heard  of  it  for  some  months.  Our  imagination 
filled  in  the  blank  with  all  that  our  elders  could  tell 
about  unfordable  rivers,  trackless  forests,  savage 
Indians,  wild  beasts,  serpents,  worn-out  clothes  and 
scant  food. 

At  length  came  a  batch  of  letters.  They  had  been 
mailed  from  the  most  remote  post-office  on  the  f ron- 


EAELIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  65 

tier,  to  which  they  had  been  brought  by  members  of 
the  company  who  were  unable  or  unwilling  to  en- 
dure the  terrors  of  the  Great  Desert  and  the  un- 
charted defiles  of  the  Rockies.  Siclmess  had  in- 
vaded the  camp,  several  had  died,  wagons  were 
abandoned,  mules  perished  of  starvation  and  were 
eaten.  Nearly  all  of  the  party  abandoned  the  en- 
terprise and  struck  out  for  home. 

My  brother  and  two  companions  pushed  on,  not 
perhaps  braver  than  the  others,  but  because  they 
believed  that  the  Pacific  was  as  reachable  as  the 
Mississippi,  and  the  dangers  ahead  no  worse  than 
those  they  had  escaped. 

Many  weeks  passed  without  further  tidings. 
From  the  stories  brought  by  those  who  had  re- 
turned we  abandoned  hope.  At  night  I  would  lie 
awake,  seeing  in  my  overwrought  fancy  the  most 
terrific  scenes.  On  the  dim  walls  or  on  the  moonlit 
patches  of  the  floor  I  painted  the  pictures  suggested 
by  our  fears ;  my  brother  starving  in  some  desolate 
spot,  or  falling  under  the  weight  of  his  pack,  or  torn 
to  pieces  by  curious  monsters  of  the  wilderness. 
The  sough  of  the  night  winds  was  translated  into 
the  hiss  of  the  Indian  arrow  that  felled  him. 

At  length  letters  came.  They  were  sent  around 
Cape  Horn  or  across  the  Isthmus  of  Panama.  He 
had  reached  El  Dorado.  His  account  of  the  journey 
confirmed  our  worst  suspicions,  except  that  of  his 
ultimate  fate.  During  the  long  evenings  we  would 
sit  in  front  of  the  great  wood-fire,  with  a  few  of  our 
neighbors  who  dropped  in  for  the  exciting  news, 


66  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

while  my  father  read  the  thrilling  descriptions  of 
adventure,  hardship  and  hazard ;  of  how  the  three 
lonely  men  had  disagreed  regarding  the  best  trail 
through  the  awful  solitudes  of  the  Sierras ;  how  the 
little  party  had  broken  uj),  two  choosing  the  trail 
which  the  narrator  had  deemed  impossible  and 
pushed  on  alone,  until  through  a  thousand  menac- 
ing accidetits  the  three  found  one  another  in  a  min- 
ing camp  near  Sacramento. 

Although  I  was  safely  at  home,  my  intimacy  with 
my  brother  and  my  love  for  him  made  his  story  a 
part  of  my  own  biography.  I  felt  it  all,  for  I  had 
lived  through  it  all,  or  rather  it  had  lived  itself 
through  me,  touching  every  fibre  of  my  soul,  even  as 
it  made  my  blood  run  hot  and  cold.  I  was  now  a 
denizen  of  a  world  where  civilization  was  still  in 
the  making.  I  have  never  been  able  to  divest  my- 
self— I  will  not  say  merely  of  the  knowledge — but 
of  the  sensation  that  the  comparative  luxury  that 
has  surrounded  me  is  like  that  of  a  caravan  moving- 
over  a  desert  where  dangers  lurk  under  the  stones 
or  peer  out  from  hostile  forms  not  far  away. 

Boyish  Adventure. 

Another  recollection  has  trailed  itself  down 
through  my  manhood.  A  comrade  and  I,  in  spite  of 
many  warnings  and  forbiddings,  had  gone  down  to 
the  river.  What  boys  of  eight  or  nine  could  resist 
the  lure  of  a  flat-bottomed  boat  on  a  rippleless 
though  swiftly  moving  stream?  Tlie  river  was  nar- 
row and  crooked,  with  as  many  turns  in  it  as  there 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  67 

were  kinks  and  folds  in  the  fabled  serpent  that 
strangled  the  priest  of  Apollo.  That  the  stream 
was  not  charted  in  our  primary  geography  made  it 
as  much  of  a  temptation  as  another  River  of  Doubt 
to  a  certain  adventurous  personage.  We  were  fas- 
cinated by  the  smooth  drifting  under  the  flashing  of 
the  sunset  through  the  shadows  which  great  forest 
trees  laid  across  the  current  and  were  carried  by  it 
several  miles  down-stream. 

We  forgot  the  slipping  away  of  both  time  and 
distance  until  a  sharp  clap  of  thunder  and  the  sud- 
den darkening  of  the  sky  broke  our  reveries.  We 
turned  about  and  headed  up-stream.  We  tugged  at 
the  heavy  oars  until  lungs  and  muscles  gave  out,  but 
could  make  no  progress.  The  rain  came  down  in 
torrents  thickening  the  darkness  of  the  premature 
night,  except  when  the  lightning  fusilladed  as  if  we 
had  come  upon  a  masked  battery  worked  by  demons. 
Utterly  exhausted  we  had  to  let  her  drift ;  whither 
we  did  not  know.  The  water  filled  the  boat  shin 
deep.  We  were  drenched  through  the  skin.  Our 
bones  seemed  all  marrow. 

We  knew  that  there  was  a  big  dam  and  a  high 
waterfall  a  few  miles  below.  Would  we  drift  over 
it?  Would  they  fish  out  our  bodies?  But  from  the 
maw  of  this  Charybdis  we  were  saved  by  a  twist  in 
the  current  that  swirled  the  boat  under  a  clump  of 
alder-bushes  growing  out  of  the  bank.  We  clung  to 
the  branches  until  we  warped  the  craft  into  a  tiny 
cove.  For  at  least  two  hours  we  sat  there  with 
"  chaos  and  old  night "  roaring  about  us. 


68  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

Yet — I  record  this  with  some  wonder — I  had  thus 
far  no  fear.  The  sublimity  of  the  flashing  lightning, 
the  crashing  thunder,  the  crackling  boughs,  the  del- 
ugy  "  hish  "  of  the  rain,  completely  absorbed  the 
mind.  I  understand  how  tiny  birds  are  charmed  by 
the  glaring  eyes  and  white  fangs  of  a  boa-con- 
strictor, and  how  soldiers  after  the  first  volley  are 
fascinated  by  the  fury  of  the  battle,  and  don't  want 
to  run. 

Near  midnight  the  storm  had  passed.  Did  the 
moon  ever  before  shine  so  serenely?  Schools  of 
fishes  broke  water  about  us.  Night-hawks  cut  the 
air  in  circles  over  our  heads.  A  muskrat  swam 
near  to  us,  glanced  at  us  with  his  beady  eyes,  dis- 
owned our  company,  dived  and  came  up  under  the 
muddy  bank. 

Now  it  was  that,  all  danger  having  passed,  my 
fright  began.  The  terror  of  what  might  have  hap- 
pened but  for  the  Providence  of  the  alder-bush  was 
crushing.  I  feel  the  chill  of  it  now  in  telling  about 
it.  Fortunately  voices  were  heard  hallooing  our 
names ;  and  in  a  little  while  we  were  put  to  bed  with 
hot  mint  tea  and  kindly  scoldings  to  restore  the 
cockles  of  our  hearts. 

Since  then  I  have  been  lashed  fast  to  the  bridge 
of  an  ocean  steamer  plowing  through  a  midnight 
storm,  have  looked  down  the  gullet  of  Vesuvius,  and 
stood  dizzied  above  the  mighty  canons  of  the 
Rockies ;  but  that  night  has  always  had  for  me  the 
precedence  in  scenic  thrills.  A  few  days  ago  I  mo- 
tored along  the  bank  of  that  same  little  river  with 


EAELIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  69 

an  interest  akin  to  that  of  a  veteran  revisiting 
Waterloo  or  Gettysburg. 

A  Sin  its  Own  Cure. 

I  am  happy  to  record  that  I  can  recall  but  one 
instance  in  my  life  when  I  deliberately  swore.  That 
I  never  addicted  myself  to  the  use  of  that  censored 
part  of  the  dictionary  may  have  been  partly  due  to 
an  experience  when  I  was  about  eight  years  old,  in 
which  the  penalty  came  so  close  upon  the  heels  of 
the  offense  that  it  left  the  moral  very  vividly  ex- 
posed. The  whip  of  the  gods  so  quickly  lashed  me 
that  I  have  run  through  my  life  crying,  ^^  Procul,  O 
procul  este  profani." 

I  had  gone  to  a  swamp  to  gather  sweet-flag  or 
calamus  root.  I  was  perched  upon  a  tiny  bog  in  the 
waste  of  mud  and  water,  trying  to  pull  up  an  espe- 
cially promising  stalk.  Notwithstanding  all  my  ex- 
penditure of  strength  and  grunting  the  calamus 
would  not  come  up.  My  comrade,  a  boy  several 
years  older  than  I,  was  in  a  similar  endeavor  on  a 
neighboring  clump  of  dirt  and  roots.  As  a  stimulus 
to  his  muscles  he  let  out  a  few  words  swollen  with 
the  infinities.  Whether  he  invoked  the  celestial  or 
Tartarian  powers  I  do  not  now  recall ;  but  his  lan- 
guage seemed  to  be  charged  with  some  sort  of  talis- 
manic  efficacy,  for  he  landed  a  splendid  root.  Put- 
ting my  hands  deep  in  the  water  I  repeated  his  for- 
mula. My  stalk  instantly  gave  way.  So  did  the 
bog,  and  I  was  precipitated  backwards  into  a  pool 
of  slime  and  water.    But  for  the  timely  help  of  my 


TO  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

comrade  these  reminiscences  might  never  have  been 
written. 

Going  home  in  my  disreputable  plight  I  was 
afraid  to  meet  the  inquiries  of  those  who  had  taught 
me  the  Third  Commandment,  lest  a  second  and 
worse  penalty  might  follow.  I,  however,  arranged 
an  account  of  my  misadventure  which  carefully  left 
out  the  heart  of  the  story.  Whether  my  wet  and  be- 
draggled condition  or  the  shame  in  my  conscience 
was  the  stronger  motive,  I  cannot  now  say;  but  I 
was  seized  with  such  remorse  that  I  made  a  solemn 
vow  to  keep  my  mouth  clean  of  like  pollution. 

A  little  later  I  consoled  myself  quite  religiously 
on  hearing  a  text  from  the  Book  of  Job ; — "  God 
looketh  upon  men,  and  if  any  shall  say,  I  have 
sinned  and  perverted  that  which  is  right,  and  it 
profited  me  not,  he  shall  deliver  his  soul  from 
going  into  the  pit  .  .  .  Lo,  these  things  worketh 
God  oftentimes  with  man  to  bring  back  his  soul 
from  the  pit." 

All  theology  aside,  I  look  back  to  that  mud  bath 
as  the  teaching  of  a  real  providential  lesson.  Per^ 
haps  at  that  almost  infantile  age  I  could  not  have 
appreciated  any  higher  ethical  appeal.  Why  should 
I  not  think  that  the  Great  Father  who  cares  for 
sparrows  and  babies  had  equally  led  my  ignorance? 

A  half  century  later  I  related  this  early  experi- 
ence to  my  father,  who  hatl  then  reached  the  years 
of  reminiscence  at  which  I  myself  have  now  at- 
tained. He  matched  me  with  a  like  experience  of 
his  own  when  a  bare-footed  lad  on  the  paternal 


EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS  71 

farm.  He  had  been  taught  by  his  jiarents  a  puri- 
tanical abhorrence  of  card-playing.  The  rigid  pro- 
hibition of  the  "  poisoned  pasteboards "  had  the 
usual  effect  of  forbidden  fruit.  He  secured  a  pack 
of  the  contraband  stuff.  One  Sunday  morning, 
Avhen  the  rest  of  the  family  were  at  the  village 
church,  he  and  his  brother  climbed  into  an  empty 
sugar  hogshead,  such  as  adorned  almost  all  well- 
furnished  farmsteads  at  that  day,  and  were  often 
used  for  supplementary  cisterns.  It  was  open  only 
at  the  top,  so  that  the  sky  looked  down  upon  the 
miscreants  like  the  eye  of  God.  The  lads  had 
scarcely  begun  their  game  when  there  came  a  fright- 
ful crash.  If  the  heavens  were  not  split,  their  ears 
were.  The  hogshead  rocked  as  a  Viking's  ship  un- 
der a  stroke  of  Thor's  hammer.  A  second  blow 
knocked  it  over,  tumbling  the  boys  into  the  open 
and  scattering  the  ground  with  fifty-two  evidences 
of  their  guilt. 

The  boys  were,  however,  somewhat  relieved  on 
finding  that  their  assailant  was  not  a  veritable 
Jupiter  Tonans,  but  a  neighboring  farmer  who  had 
made  a  fence-rail  do  the  part  of  a  bolt  of  lightning. 
The  man  was  very  gracious  to  the  culprits,  and 
promised  not  to  tell  on  them,  on  condition  of  their 
keeping  a  pledge  not  to  repeat  the  same  iniquity. 

My  father  said  that  a  thousand  times  in  after  life 
the  shivers  of  that  fright  had  gone  through  him. 
For  eighty  years  he  kept  the  pledge.  But  at  length 
the  venerable  man  fell  from  his  high  resolve.  When 
failing  sight  had  deprived  him  of  his  lifelong  solace 


72  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLT  WAY 

in  reading,  lie  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  his 
grandchildren  and  learned  to  play  solitaire.  He 
used  to  tell  the  story  of  his  youthful  misadventure 
for  the  sake  of  drawing  a  "  moral  " ; — "  Boys,  never 
do  in  secret  what  you  would  be  ashamed  of  having 
others  know." 

This  led  to  a  very  wise  rule  in  our  home, — "  If 
you  want  to  play  cards  don't  hide  away  in  your  bed- 
rooms, but  bring  them  down  into  the  family  living- 
room."  Thus  the  old  hogshead  story  became  one  of 
our  ethical  heirlooms. 


Ill 

BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS 

Hear  to  Nature's  Heart. 

AFTER  some  years  of  widowhood  my  father 
married  again.  My  stepmother  was  an  ex- 
cellent woman.  I  record  with  gratitude 
the  love  and  care  she  wasted  on  me. 

I  say  "  wasted  "  because,  with  all  her  accomplish- 
ments and  fidelity  to  my  minutest  needs,  I  felt  that 
she  was  not  my  mother.  As  I  looked  at  the  lead- 
pencil  picture  which  I  had  idealized  into  that  of 
perfect  motherhood,  and  thought  of  her  whom  I  had 
canonized  in  my  reverent  affection,  I  regarded  my 
new  maternal  guardian  as  in  some  sort  an  intruder. 
Perhaps  if  I  had  remembered  my  true  mother,  and 
then  tried  to  see  how  the  substitute  tried  honestly 
and  lovingly  to  take  her  place,  I  might  have  felt 
differently. 

When  my  father  saw  the  drift  of  things  he  very 
wisely  sent  me  away  from  home.  He  had  an  old 
friend,  a  man  broken  in  health  by  the  confinement 
of  a  city  school,  who  had  migrated  to  a  neighboring 
State,  and  set  up  an  academy  among  the  hills.  My 
father  thought  it  Avould  be  a  good  experience  for  me 
if  I  made  the  journey  thither  unattended,  although 
I  was  only  ten. 

My  natural  timidity  and  a  natural  curiosity  re- 
garding what  was  about  to  befall  me  en  route  kept 

73 


74  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

me  wide  awake  the  entire  night  before  I  set  out.  No 
Arctic  explorer  starting  for  uncharted  ice-channels 
had  more  anxiety  as  to  what  he  might  encounter 
than  I  had  when  I  was  ticketed  through  over  vari- 
ous railroads,  across  ferries,  committed  to  the  haz- 
ards of  city  transfers  and  mountain  stage-coaches, 
and  finally  consigned  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
strange  schoolmasters,  not  knowing  whether  they 
would  turn  out  to  be  Squeerses  or  Dr.  Arnolds, 
and  to  the  unanticipated  savageries  of  a  tribe  of 
boys  who  would  doubtless  tattoo  me  with  the  in- 
signia of  their  own  mode  of  life.  How  often  since 
when  starting  on  a  voyage  I  have  imagined  myself 
ten  years  old,  in  my  short  trousers,  saying  Good- 
bye !  to  all  I  knew !  That  was  the  biggest  of  all  my 
tramps  abroad,  although,  like  Puck,  I  have  since 
almost  "  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth." 

The  boarding-school  to  which  I  was  sent  was 
typical  of  such  institutions  at  that  day.  It  would 
seem  crude  and  laughably  unattractive  to  a  boy 
brought  up  in  one  of  our  more  modern  palatial 
brain  nurseries,  where  education  is  presumed  to  be 
by  less  arduous  processes  than  formerly ;  where  the 
e-duco-ing  is  accomplished  by  fascinating  the  young 
faculties  to  come  forth  of  themselves  through  the 
influence  of  elegant  artistic  and  literary  surround- 
ings, while  the  body  is  developed  by  spectacular 
games  and  well-plumbed  bath-tubs. 

My  school  was  located  in  the  tiniest  village  that 
was  ever  christened  with  a  post-office  name.  It  was 
hidden  away  on  the  edge  of  our  western  wilderness, 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  75 

surrounded  by  rougli  and  picturesque  hills,  which 
were  torn  into  ravines  by  rushing  streams,  and  hori- 
zoned  by  a  range  of  glorious  mountains.  We  were 
"  close  to  nature's  heart  "—a  spot,  I  maintain,  bet- 
ter adapted  for  a  nestling  mind  than  the  suburbs  of 
the  best  university. 

We  boys  there  became  early  acquainted  with  the 
features  of  our  Eldest  Mother,  wrinkled  with  rocks 
and  caverns,  yet  laughing  at  us  with  a  hundred 
sparkling  streams.  We  learned  to  love  and  under- 
stand her  many  voices :  the  shrill  call  of  the  eagle 
and  the  chirp  of  the  squirrel ;  the  roar  of  cataracts 
and  the  thin  whisper  of  the  winds  among  the  pine- 
tree  needles ;  the  thunder  of  the  falling  oak  and  the 
patter  of  its  dropping  acorns.  We  learned  her 
varying  moods  as  in  winter's  storms  and  autumn's 
silences  we  roamed  the  primeval  forests  that  were 
often  waist  deep  with  the  mould  of  a  hundred  vege- 
table generations;  climbed  the  precipices  which 
were  dizzying  except  to  goats  and  boys ;  tracked  the 
deer  and  the  field-mice  by  their  footprints. 

Knowledge  of  nature  acquired  not  scientifically, 
but  sympathetically,  is  the  best  foundation  for  cul- 
ture of  mind  and  heart.  Without  it  our  after  phi- 
losophies will  be  like  dry  rivers,  good  for  boundary 
lines  of  thought,  but  not  refreshing  to  the  soul ;  our 
aesthetics,  whether  of  artist  or  poet,  will  be  only 
painted  fruit.  Nature  is  life.  Until  we  learn  her 
language  and  commune  with  her  the  intelligence  in 
us  will  be  but  arid  stuff,  and  our  emotions  like  the 
hopping  of  wing-clipped  birds. 


76  ALONG  THE  FEIEKDLY  WAY 

Thoreau  describes  a  certain  new  experience  of 
familiarity  witli  nature  in  her  grander  moods  as 
akin  to  that  which  religionists  call  "  The  New 
Birth."  I  can  then  never  be  sufficiently  grateful  for 
that  early  "  conversion,"  when  the  Spirit  of  all  vis- 
ible things  seemed  to  take  me  by  the  hand,  and  say, 
"  Come  with  me !  Love  me !  Revere  me !  Feel  my 
august  presence ;  but  never  be  afraid  of  me ! " 

I  attribute  much  of  my  after  contentment  in  life, 
especially  the  feeling  of  being  at  home  in  the  most 
solitary,  out-of-the-way  places,  to  the  tuition  of 
those  days.  I  can  say  that  since  I  was  ten  years  old 
I  have  scarcely  ever  been  lonely,  except  in  the  city 
on  a  summer's  day  when  the  family  is  out  of  town. 
If  my  solitude  allows  me  a  glimpse  of  nature  I  find 
it  a  cozy  den. 

To  the  open  life  of  those  school-days  I  owe  also  a 
happy  bondage  to  the  sense  of  the  sublime,  which 
has  given  me  many  delights.  I  am  a  child  again  if  I 
can  look  out  upon  a  wide  exi)anse;  or  watch  the 
windings  of  some  noble  river  Avashing  the  bases  of 
precipices  as  if  they  were  the  feet  of  the  gods;  or 
wander  in  the  long  aisles  of  the  forest,  which  Na- 
ture built  for  her  first  temple ;  or  follow  the  eagle, 
frightened  by  human  voices,  taking  refuge  in  the 
depths  of  the  sky — an  image  of  our  thoughts  when 
they  vanish  toward  the  Infinite ;  or  stand  worship- 
ping God  before  some  Great  White  Throne  of  cloud 
that  rises  from  the  horizon.  How  these  old-time 
sights  and  sounds  repeat  themselves  in  endless  pan- 
orama, in  unbroken  oratorio,  as  now  from  my  bun- 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  77 

galow  "  in  depth  of  wood  embraced,"  the  cradle  of 
my  second  childhood,  I  gaze  out  toward  the  sunset. 

I  used  to  long  for  the  poetic  gift,  that  I  might 
sing  out  the  songs  which  nature  sings  into  me ;  but 
I  am  made  more  than  content  with  my  limitation  in 
this  regard  by  the  conviction  that  the  truly  sublime 
transcends  all  expression ;  that  the  attempt  to  ver- 
balize it  is  apt  to  destroy  the  feeling  itself,  as  we 
make  birds  fly  away  when  we  try  to  imitate  their 
call. 

I  am  confident  of  this  much  at  least,  that  the 
sense  of  the  sublime  is  totally  distinct  from  ability 
to  express  it.  I  travelled  for  a  few  days  with  an 
American  gentleman  who  one  morning  stood  en- 
raptured before  Mont  Blanc,  his  face  pale  with  his 
emotion ;  but  all  he  said  was,  "  Gee !  But  that's 
fine !  Ain't  it?  "  I  knew  an  old  Indian  who  would 
sit  motionless  for  hours  looking  off  a  cliff,  and  make 
no  utterance  except  a  grunting  "  Ugh !  "  A  spir- 
itual affinity  he  with  Saint  Paul  who  could  only 
exclaim,  "  Oh,  the  height,  the  depth ! "  when  the 
vision  of  the  Infinite  rolled  before  him. 

Of  this  dissociation  of  feeling  and  the  power  of 
expression  I  am  reminded  by  one  of  my  teachers  at 
the  old  academy  who  has  since  attained  some  dis- 
tinction as  a  poet.  He  once  wrote  a  beautiful  ode 
on  Music.  Presuming  that  such  a  man's  soul  was  a 
spring-head  of  harmony,  of  which  his  verses  were 
but  the  outward  trickle,  I  invited  him  to  visit  me 
when  I  had  also  for  a  guest  a  lady  of  exquisite  mu- 
sical talent,  both  as  a  pianist  and  singer.    Her  re- 


78  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

citals  affected  my  poetical  friend  about  as  much  as 
a  nightingale  affects  the  stumj)  upon  which  she  sits 
Avhen  her  song  fills  the  grove.  My  friend  told  me 
afterward  that  he  could  not  distinguish  one  note 
from  another.  Either  his  two  ears  had  been  origi- 
nally tuned  in  diiferent  keys,  so  that  to  him  the 
most  exact  harmonies  were  tumbled  into  discords, 
or  else  his  soul  had  never  been  born  into  the  world 
where  Or^jheus  lived. 

This  gentleman  could  also  write  Thanatopsian 
verses  about  the  grandeurs  of  nature,  but  I  am  sure 
he  saw  none.  His  work  was  rhythmic  patchwork 
suggested  by  other  poets,  thus  making  a  new  gar- 
ment for  nature,  but  he  was  innocent  of  all  knowl- 
edge of  her  naked  form.  He  si)outed  Wordsworth's 
Excursion,  but  never  cared  to  take  a  woodland 
walk.  He  recited  the  ode  to  Mont  Blanc,  but  was 
oblivious  to  the  grand  monolithic  mountain  that 
upheld  our  portion  of  the  sky. 

I  am  grateful  to  my  Creator  who,  seeing  me  not 
worthy  of  both  gifts — that  of  feeling  and  that  of  ex- 
pression— gave  me  the  former ;  that  He  opened  my 
eyes  staring  wide  toAvai'd  the  Transcendent,  though 
He  left  me  tongue-tied ;  and  that  He  sent  me  to  the 
old  academy  at  the  base  of  an  American  Olympus, 
where  I  Avas  encouraged  to  talk  with  my  gods. 
What  if  I  only  prattled  at  them,  and  understood  not 
a  word  they  said  to  me !  I  at  least  caught  the  sweet- 
ness and  depth  of  their  voices,  though  I  knew  them, 
perhaps,  only  as  a  dog  knows  his  master's  whistle. 

I  have  a  half -pagan  conviction  that  these  divin- 


BOAEDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  T9 

ities  understand  us,  as  mothers  understand  the  in- 
articulate utterances  of  their  babes.  The  incompre- 
hensible j)owers  of  wood  and  stream,  of  mountain, 
sea  and  sky,  sometimes  seem  to  catch  us  to  their 
unseen  arms,  to  absorb  our  littleness  into  their 
greatness,  and  soothe  us  with  the  spell  of  their  own 
immovable  peace. 

Old-Time  Boarding-School  Sports, 

Although  my  children  and  grandchildren  have 
gone  to  the  most  up-to-date  intellectual  incubators, 
I  have  no  reason  to  envy  them  when  I  recall  my  own 
experience  while  being  hatched  out  in  a  more  primi- 
tive and  natural  way  in  a  school  nest  in  the  Tusca- 
roras. 

Our  instructors  were  not  over  bookish,  but  they 
knew  a  boy's  nature, — the  best  part  of  any  system 
of  pedagogics.  They  were  especially  wise  enough  to 
encourage  us  in  out-of-doors  woodsy  life,  even  at 
the  expense  of  the  class-room. 

We  trapped  game,  but  we  must  make  our  own 
traps ;  and  one  of  the  instructors  had  lived  among 
the  Indians.  We  wove  nets,  and  with  them 
"  swept "  the  creeks,  and  captured  all  sorts  of 
aquatic  monsters,  some  of  which  have  apparently 
become  extinct  in  civilized  waters; — e.  (/.^ten-pound 
snapping  turtles  that  lay  on  the  bottom  like  round 
and  slippery  rocks  and  suggested  our  keeping  our 
boots  on;  headless  eels  that  looked  like  stuffed 
stockings  with  a  row  of  eyes  around  the  top.  We 
knew  the  trout-holes  within  a  radius  of  five  miles 


80  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

as  well  as  a  hawk  knows  tlie  roosting  places  of 
young  chickens. 

One  rule  of  the  school  was  especially  appreciated; 
— we  could  after  our  eleventh  year  keep  a  shotgun, 
provided  it  was  not  loaded  on  the  premises.  I  never 
afterward  anticipated  an  academic  degree  so  ea- 
gerly as  I  awaited  the  honor  of  entering  the  society 
of  our  Young  Nimrods.  By  incessant  preliminary 
practice  I  could  aim  a  broomstick  exactly  at  a 
knot-hole,  and  my  pocket-money  had  been  hoarded 
for  percussion  caps.  My  supreme  admiration  was 
for  one  of  our  teachers  who  relieved  the  tedium  of  a 
private  lesson  in  Latin  grammar  by  explaining  to 
us  the  mechanism  of  a  gun-lock,  and  making  up  for 
the  classical  waste  of  the  time  by  telling  the  tale  of 
Hercules  slaying  the  Hydra.  Hercules  and  I  subse- 
quently performed  joint  exploits  on  moccasins, 
black  and  other  snakes  found  in  the  woods. 

Squirrels  were  our  pets.  Nearly  every  boy  had 
one  in  his  room.  Two  red  squirrels  used  to  sleep  at 
night  in  my  trousers'  j)ockets.  A  gray  squirrel,  as 
big  as  a  half-grown  cat,  was  the  prize  exhibit  in  my 
domestic  menagerie.  But  I  never  succeeded  in  tam- 
ing him.  One  day  he  sprang  from  a  shelf  at  the 
rear  of  the  room  straight  through  the  front  window 
some  ten  paces  off,  cutting  himself  to  death  with 
the  glass.  Van  Amburg  couldn't  have  mourned 
more  over  the  death  of  one  of  his  pet  lions  than  I 
did  over  the  body  of  my  savage  captive.  The  crea- 
ture belonged  to  me  in  a  special  sense,  for  I  had  dis- 
covered his  native  lair  in  a  hollow  tree-trunk,  fast- 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  81 

ened  a  pillow-case  over  the  top  exit,  kindled  a  fire 
at  the  lower  entrance,  and  made  him  leap  for  his 
life  into  my  trap.  For  his  tragic  end  I  therefore 
felt  myself  responsible.  His  ghost  still  frequently 
haunts  me.  What  right  had  I  to  rob  him  of  glorious 
years  of  life  among  the  nut  trees?  And  what  a 
splendid  spirit  he  showed!  His  leap  through  the 
window  pane  was  doubtless  the  execution  of  a  vow 
as  deep  as  Patrick  Henry's  "  Give  me  liberty,  or 
give  me  death !  "  How  often  since  have  I  lowered 
my  rifle  and  spared  the  shot  when  a  big  plume-tailed 
gray  has  looked  down  upon  me  with  accusing  eyes, 
and  chatteringly  taunted  me  with  the  tragic  fate  of 
my  old  pet !  Thus  by  his  heroic  death  that  squirrel, 
like  martyrs  among  men,  has  saved  many  of  his 
race.  I  will  embalm  his  memory.  I  wish  I  had 
stuffed  his  skin. 

I  sympathize  heartily  with  a  gentleman,  now  one 
of  the  foremost  naturalists  in  the  world,  who  when 
a  boy  told  me  how  an  owl  in  the  Canadian  woods 
assumed  the  shape  of  anotlier  owl  which  the  lad  had 
shot  in  a  Jersey  swamp  tlie  year  before,  and  made 
the  forests  resound  with  "  L-o-o-o-o-k !  Who-o-o-o-o's 
come?      The  wr-r-r-retch 

"  'that  shot  me  in  the  field  of  Shrewsbury. 
Seize  on  him,  ye  owls,  take  him  to  your  torments. '  ' ' 

Doubtless   Beebe   now   finds    relief   for   his    con- 
science in  the  fact  that  there  are  more  living  owls  in 
the  woods  because  of  his  boyhood  compunctions, 
I  doubt  if  Colonel  Roosevelt's  thrills  among  the 


82  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

beasts  of  the  jungle  were  more  exquisite  than  those 
of  two  of  us  boys  encountering  a  big  eagle.  To  be 
sure,  the  King  of  Birds  must  have  been  sick  that 
day,  or  he  would  not  have  ignominiously  perched 
upon  the  cross-sticks  of  a  worm-fence  within  shot- 
gun range.  I  recall  how  my  aim  covered  half  the 
points  of  the  compass  before  I  could  steady  my 
nerve  to  draw  bead  on  the  prey.  When  he  fell  to 
the  ground  there  was  still  enough  life  in  his  beak 
and  talons  to  make  it  dangerous  for  us  to  touch  him. 
It  required  cautious  manoBUvering  to  stretch  out 
his  wings  so  far  that  by  holding  them  by  the  ex- 
treme tips  we  could  make  the  eagle  march  down  the 
road.  He  put  up  a  tremendous  death  fight,  jabbing 
at  us  with  his  curved  cimeter-like  beak,  and  making 
frantic  but  feeble  leaps  to  bury  his  stiletto  spurs 
into  our  flesh.  But  we  held  on,  largely  because  we 
were  afraid  to  let  go.  After  a  mile  or  more  of  this 
convoy — much  like  a  submarine  taking  a  gunboat 
into  port — we  deposited  our  victim,  an  exhausted 
lieap  of  quivering  feathers,  on  our  playground, 
where  we  were  commanded  by  the  village  minister 
to  give  him  one  shot  more  as  a  coup  de  mort. 

To  steal  Indian-fashion  through  the  woods  with- 
out cracking  a  stick  or  rustling  a  dry  leaf  until  at 
our  very  feet  the  partridge  startled  us  with  her 
"  drumming  "  as  she  tried  to  decoy  us  away  from 
her  young  brood ; — to  lift  the  box  off  our  "  figure- 
four  trap,"  uncertain  if  we  should  find  a  hare,  a 
hedgehog,  a  'possum  or  a  wildcat  beneath  it,  with 
the  different  sort  of  tactics  that  would  be  required 


B0ARDI:NG-SCH00L  days  83 

to  retain  the  prey,  or,  in  case  it  should  prove  a 
wood-j^ussy,  to  let  her  go  without  taking  toll  for  her 
retention ; — to  fish  until  our  stomach-clocks  told  us 
it  was  noon,  clean  our  catch,  build  a  bramble  fire  in 
an  extemporized  three-stone  stove,  gather  an  arm- 
ful of  roasting-ears  from  Farmer  Oakson's  ten-acre 
corn-field — which  we  appropriated  with  the  same 
sense  of  legal  right  that  Ruth  had  when  gleaning  in 
the  field  of  Boaz; — who  can  think  of  such  days 
without  feeling  the  air  again  laden  with  the  odors 
of  pine  and  balsam  and  birch  and  charged  almost  to 
effervescence  with  ozone,  maldng  him  take  deep 
breaths,  and  rejuvenating  his  very  senility? 

I  wonder  if  Billy,  the  new  boy,  fresh  and  green 
from  the  city,  has  ever  forgiven  us  for  urging  him 
to  grab  the  polecat,  with  the  assurance  that  it  was 
a  muskrat  whose  scent  was  exceedingly  sweet  when 
dried  out.  If  he  is  still  vengeful  I  herewith  promise 
to  pay  my  share  for  the  new  coat  and  trousers  made 
necessary  by  having  to  bury  his  old  ones  in  the 
ground. 

I  also  offer  my  part  of  due  apologies  to  a  new 
teacher  who  found  a  garter  snake  between  the 
sheets  one  night  when  he  went  to  bed. 

But  "  let  bygones  be  bygones  " !  Alas,  we  have 
to! 

We  had  no  gymnasium  at  the  academy.  Had 
there  been  one,  no  boy  would  have  gone  into  it,  any 
more  than  a  bird  would  enter  a  wire  cage  for  the 
purpose  of  exercising  on  its  perches  and  swinging- 
rings.    The  great  out-of-doors  was  our  playground. 


84  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

Legging  and  arming  it  up  a  tree-trunk  is  more  in- 
teresting and  makes  better  development  of  nerve 
and  muscle  than  lilting  oneself  by  ladder-rungs. 
Letting  yourself  down  a  ijrecij)ice  by  a  long  wild- 
grape  vine  is  more  exhilarating  than  swinging  on  a 
trapeze.  No  teni)in  ball  is  comj)arable  with  a  half- 
ton  boulder  taking  ten-rod  leaj^s  down  the  mountain- 
side. What  concrete  or  i)orcelain-lined  water-tank 
can  compare  with  the  swinnning  hole,  where  you 
can  have  a  twenty-foot  dive  if  you  know  how  to 
make  it?  What  is  foot-and-wind  practice  on  a  level 
gravel  imth  comjiared  with  a  mountain  climb? 
These  exercises  gave  us  more  bounding  blood  and 
tougher  sinews  than  if  we  had  had  an  ex-j)ugilist  or 
age- winded  university  champion  for  our  trainer. 

We  had  no  skating  jjond.  But  a  river  made  a 
horseshoe  bend  around  our  village — seven  miles 
through  the  woods  whose  protection  from  the  winds 
left  the  ice  unfretted  by  a  ripple,  glistening  black 
ice,  where  your  own  steel  made  the  first  mark,  and 
the  ringing  of  your  metal  was  echoed  by  the  forests, 
or  occasionally  answered  by  a  black  bear  that,  sur- 
prised by  your  unexpected  apparition,  growled  at 
you,  but  knew  that  it  was  useless  to  give  chase. 

.    .    .    **  All  shod  with  steel 
We  hissed  along  the  polished  ice.    .    .    .    With  the  din 
Smitten,  the  precipices  rang  loud; 
The  leafless  trees  and  every  icy  crag 
Tingled  like  iron." 

Stealing  behind  trees  and  rocks  to  bring  down  a 


BOARDm(^-SCHOOL  DAYS  85 

hawk  from  the  high  branch  of  a  dead  tree ;  ferreting 
your  way  behind  stone  walls  until  you  are  in  the 
midst  of  a  flock  of  wild  i^igeons,  and  can  get  two  of 
them  at  a  shot ;  standing  patiently  on  guard  by  the 
hour  on  the  fox's  runway  until  Reynard  surrenders 
his  brush  as  a  tribute  to  your  good  aim;  snapping 
the  fly  at  the  exact  instant  it  is  swallowed  by  the 
"  boss  of  the  brook  " ; — these  things  train  one  to  the 
habit  of  correlating  mind  and  eye  and  nerve  and 
muscle  for  simultaneous  action  far  better  than  any 
device  invented  by  pedagogists. 

I  do  not  claim  for  the  old  school  the  highest 
grade  for  academic  training.  Our  teachers  were 
undoubtedly  more  jiainstaking  than  learned  in  the 
classics  and  the  sciences.  We  did  not,  however, 
miss  their  lack  of  erudition,  for  we  should  not  have 
appreciated  it  if  it  had  really  been  on  daily  tap  for 
us ;  but  we  did  appreciate  their  fidelity  and  encour- 
agement as  we  dug  into  square-roots  and  Greek 
roots,  and,  above  all,  into  the  roots  of  our  own  con- 
sciences and  purposes. 

In  spite  of  faults  which  would  have  been  unpar- 
donable in  Andover  Academy  and  many  another 
school  of  that  day,  I  believe  that  wo  boys  from  Way- 
Back  forged  our  way  as  far  to  the  front  of  affairs, 
and  in  as  goodly  proportion  to  our  numbers,  as 
those  from  any  of  our  most  noted  preparatory  in- 
stitutions. I  now  recall  that  of  about  seventy  lads, 
gathered  largely  from  the  neighboring  country  dis- 
trict, without  any  social  or  ancestral  inheritance  in 
the  way  of  special  culture,  mostly  farmers'  boys, 


86  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

two  were  afterward  ministers  in  the  largest 
churclies  of  New  York  City,  eight  became  of  more 
than  local  professional  reputation  in  smaller  cities 
and  towns,  one  a  highly  distinguished  professor  in 
a  great  university,  and  others  well  known  in  various 
walks  of  life. 

I  must  tell  a  story  of  one  of  the  most  modest  of 
my  comrades.  He  lived  in  Southern  Pennsylvania. 
On  leaving  college  he  served  in  the  Christian  Com- 
mission of  Civil  War  days,  and  learned  enough  of 
movements  preliminary  to  the  advance  of  an  army 
into  a  new  section  of  country  to  suspect  that  cer- 
tain strangers  coming  into  his  home  neighborhood 
foreboded  an  invasion  of  Lee  across  the  borders.  By 
careful  observation  he  confirmed  his  surmise.  He 
tried  to  give  an  alarm  to  the  authorities  at  Wash- 
ington, but  all  wires  were  down.  He  mounted  his 
horse  and  drove  it  to  exhaustion  over  the  hills ;  bor- 
rowed another,  and  at  fifty  or  sixty  miles  away 
reached  a  telegraphic  station.  He  sent  a  dispatch 
to  Governor  Curtin  at  Harrisburg.  Being  from  an 
unknown  person  the  message  was  not  altogether 
credited,  but  was  transmitted  to  Washington. 
Pi'eparation  for  the  victory  at  Gettysburg  was  the 
sequel. 

When,  some  jenvfi  after  the  war,  the  name  of  the 
sender  of  the  dispatch  was  discovered,  I  hugged  my- 
self complacently  in  recognizing  it  as  that  of  one 
of  my  old  pals  in  tracking  woodsy  marauders 
who  had  become  the  hero  in  trailing  the  bigger 
game. 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  87 

As  now,  through  the  haze  of  nearly  fourscore 
years,  I  envisage  one  by  one  these  old  boys  who 
were  the  fathers  of  their  own  manhood,  I  think 
pleasantly  of  Wordsworth's  lines : 

"It  is  a  generous  spirit,  who,  when  brought 
Among  the  tasks  of  real  life,  hath  wrought 
Upon  the  plan  that  pleased  his  boyhood  thought." 

I  would  send  my  grandchildren  to  the  old  acad- 
emy in  the  hills  if  the  old  teachers  still  lived ;  if  the 
old  boys  were  endowed  with  perpetual  3^outh ;  if,  as 
lizards  re-grow  their  lost  tails,  the  old  buildings 
could  repair  the  ravages  of  time,  or  the  worse  havoc 
often  made  by  our  remorseless  so-called  "  progress- 
ive civilization  " ;  and  if — Alas,  there's  the  rub ! — 
if  I  could  go  back  too. 


fe'^ 


First  Psychological  Puzzle. 

A  fire  one  night  destroyed  the  school  dormitory, 
and,  but  for  the  uimbleness  of  some  two  hundred 
legs,  would  have  made  a  holocaust  of  children  suffi- 
cient to  have  delighted  Moloch  in  his  most  vindic- 
tive mood.  I  refer  to  it  because  it  gave  me  my  first 
problem  in  psychology,  long  before  I  ever  heard  of 
such  a  science. 

We  were  aroused  at  midnight  by  flames  flashing 
in  at  the  windows,  smoke  pouring  through  the  ven- 
tilators, and  voices  calling  us  to  fly  for  our  lives.  I 
have  a  clear  remembrance  of  tumbling  down  from 
the  upper  berth  of  our  two-story  bedstead,  grasping 


88  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

the  handle  of  my  trunk,  and  dragging  it  as  far  as 
the  room  door.  From  that  moment  all  was  blank 
until  I  found  myself  sitting  on  my  trunk  under  a 
big  tree  some  two  hundred  feet  from  the  burning 
building.  How  I  got  there  I  cannot  conceive.  A 
bruise  on  the  outside  of  my  head  and  a  racking  ache 
inside  chronicled  nothing.  Had  I  j)lunged  head 
foremost  down  the  great  stairway  in  the  avalanche 
of  boys  and  baggage?  Did  I  unconsciously  and  au- 
tomatically go  to  that  seat  of  observation  where, 
like  a  little  Nero,  I  sat  gloating  over  the  wild  scene 
of  the  conflagration?  I  certainly  had  been  knocked 
out  of  myself;  but  by  what  and  into  what?  Did 
my  subliminal  consciousness  come  up  and  help  me 
when  my  other  wits  were  gone,  as  in  Eastern  stories 
the  fairies  come  up  through  the  worm-holes  in  the 
ground,  and  help  the  unfortunate?  That  interroga- 
tion mark  has  hooked  itself  into  me  all  my  life,  and 
neither  Sir  William  Hamilton  nor  William  James 
have  extracted  the  barbs. 

Let  me  parallel  that  experience  with  another,  al- 
though it  occurred  many  years  after;  for  chrono- 
logical sequence  shouldn't  hamper  an  old  man's 
reminiscence  any  more  than  logic  restrains  a  popu- 
lar preacher. 

I  was  once  addressing  a  crowd  densely  packed 
into  a  poorly  ventilated  audience  hall.  Suddenly  I 
felt  myself  fainting.  I  distinctly  recall  my  sensa- 
tion as  I  floated  away.  Farther  and  farther  I 
drifted  through  space.  I  could  not  have  aeroplaned 
so  far  in  a  day.    Then  slowly — Oh,  how  slowly ! — I 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  89 

drifted  back  again.  But  when  I  resumed  my  senses 
I  was  surprised  to  find  myself  squarely  on  my  feet, 
and  facing  the  audience  that  showed  no  sign  of  hav- 
ing noticed  my  absence.  I  recalled  the  word  I  had 
last  uttered,  and  continued  the  sentence  and  the 
speech.  After  the  meeting,  observing  a  medical  ac- 
quaintance, I  told  him  of  my  strange  experience. 
"  I  did  not  notice  any  hiatus  in  your  talk,"  said  he ; 
"  but  now  that  you  speak  of  it,  I  think  I  can  time  it. 
It  was  probably  just  after  you  said  (here  he  quoted 
the  exact  sentence).  I  recall  that  you  seemed  to 
hesitate  for  a  word,  took  a  step  aside  and  rested 
your  hand  on  the  table." 

Is  the  mind  like  a  falcon  on  the  wrist  of  its  mis- 
tress, to  fly  away  and  return  at  her  bidding?  A  re- 
turn ball  brought  back  by  an  elastic  connection 
with  the  body?  Possibly  death  is  only  the  centrifu- 
gal force  overcoming  the  centripetal,  and  thus  per- 
manently separating  soul  and  body:  the  final 
divorce  anticipated  by  temporary  estrangements. 

First  Impression  of  a  Special  Providence. 

After  the  fire  the  tall  walls  of  the  school  building 
still  stood,  though  there  was  nothing  left  within 
them  except  piles  of  debris.  In  our  school  histories 
we  boys  had  read  of  battering  rams,  and  decided  to 
exploit  one.  Some  twenty  of  us  manned  an  im- 
mense piece  of  timber,  and,  like  the  Greeks  at  Troy, 
rushed  it  head-on  against  the  wall.  The  pile  tot- 
tered. Again  and  again  we  drove  at  it,  imagining 
that  it  would  tumble  perpendicularly  in  a  heap  in 


90  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

front  of  us.  On  the  contrary,  its  cemented  strength 
made  it  fall  almost  horizontally  in  one  piece.  It 
came  at  us  like  a  hawk  j)ouncing  down  ujjon  a 
brood  of  chickens  with  extended  wings  covering 
them  on  all  sides  at  once  to  i^revent  escape.  Several 
of  the  boys  were  for  a  moment  missing  in  the  cloud 
of  lime-dust  that  the  smash  sent  uf>.  However, 
upon  taking  account  of  stock,  we  found  that  our 
number  and  the  number  of  bones  belonging  to  each 
had  been  miraculously  preserved.  But  the  shiver  of 
that  moment!  It  fairly  crumj)les  the  paper  on 
which  I  am  now,  after  more  than  half  a  century, 
writing. 

The  village  preacher  the  next  Sunday  discoursed 
from  the  text,  "  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in 
death ; "  about  the  most  imi^ressive  sermon  I  ever 
heard,  having  helj)ed  provide  him  with  a  timely 
illustration. 

How  often  since  the  impression  then  made  has 
come  back  at  me  with  a  sort  of  battering-ram 
stroke!  Once  with  another  lad  I  was  running 
across  a  jam  of  logs  that  seemed  to  solidly  bridge  a 
broad  river.  We  came  to  a  hole  where  four  great 
logs  had  so  lodged  against  one  another  that  they 
made  a  square  frame  about  some  open  water.  No 
swimming-pool  was  ever  more  enticing.  Of  course, 
I  stripped  off  coat  and  trousers  and  plunged  in. 
When  tired  of  treading  water,  I  essayed  to  climb 
out.  But  the  logs  so  rolled  that  I  could  not  mount 
them.  It  was  only  when  I  was  completely  ex- 
hausted that  my  companion  managed  to  find  a  long 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  91 

slab  which  he  laid  across  one  corner  of  the  pool,  and 
pulled  me  out. 

Once,  on  arriving  in  port,  the  crane,  which  was 
being  swung  in  from  the  dock  over  a  hatchway, 
caught  the  heavy  iron  chain  attached  to  a  smoke- 
stack. It  fell,  splitting  a  deck  plank.  On  its  way  it 
tore  my  coat.  "  Thank  the  Lord  for  a  narrow  es- 
cape !  "  said  an  officer.    I  did  instanter. 

I  have  since  crossed  the  ocean  fourteen  times 
without  having  been  menaced  by  an  accident. 
Query : — Which  were  the  greater  "  Providential  de- 
liverances," when  I  was  frightened  by  the  "  narrow 
escapes,"  or  when  I  was  so  carefully  guarded  by  an 
Unseen  Hand  that  I  had  not  even  a  suspicion  that  I 
had  been  in  danger  at  all? 

A  Boy's  Influence. 

"What  person  has  most  influenced  your  life?" 
was  passed  around  in  a  company  of  men  represent- 
ing various  professions.  All  the  magnates  of  his- 
tory appeared  in  the  various  answers.  I  called  to 
recollection  my  instructors  in  the  university,  the 
great  preachers  and  lecturers  that  had  charmed  my 
attention  or  swayed  my  purposes,  and  the  most 
notable  books  I  had  pondered.  When  it  came  my 
turn  to  respond  to  the  question,  I  replied  "  Reddy 
Copeland." 

"Reddy  Copeland?"  queried  the  high-brows. 
"  And  who  was  he?  " 

"  One  of  my  boy  comrades  before  I  was  in  my 
teens,"  I  replied. 


92  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

Reddy  was  not  particularly  brilliant,  except  for 
his  red  hair  which  gave  him  his  sobriquet.  I  cannot 
think  of  any  single  thing  he  ever  said  or  did  that 
was  of  any  great  importance.  But  he  was  one  of 
those  fellows  who  have  a  way  of  getting  close  to 
you;  and,  being  a  little  older,  a  little  stronger,  a 
little  wiser,  a  little  more  venturesome,  of  a  little 
quicker  initiative  and  a  little  more  persistence,  lead 
you  on  at  least  one  step  further  than  you  had  at 
first  thought  of  going. 

If  this  Cicerone  should  hapi^en  to  be  a  vicious 
boy,  woe  unto  you !  If  he  is  a  good  boy,  thank  God 
for  having  brought  you  two  together.  I  do,  I  won- 
der if  Reddy  is  living.  He  has  made  no  flaring  mark 
on  his  generation,  or  I  should  have  known  it. 
Would  he  recognize  himself  in  my  description? 
Probably  not;  for  I  presume  that  he  was  utterly 
unconscious  of  his  leadership. 

The  secret  of  Reddy's  influence  was  in  the  fact 
that  in  age,  studies,  sports  and  disj)osition  he  was 
so  near  to  me  that  I  never  lost  his  trail.  There  were 
boys  of  more  talent  and  more  virtue,  and  certain  of 
our  instructors  were  men  of  saintly  character  and 
much  erudition,  for  some  of  them  afterward  became 
college  professors ;  but  they  were  too  far  away  from 
me.  I  admired  and  reverenced  them,  but  I  did  not 
feel  them.  I  would  con  over  the  wise  things  they 
had  said,  resolve  and  perhaps  pray  over  their  sug- 
gestions ;  but  when  Reddy  said  "  Come  on !  Let's  do 
this ! "  he  pulled  me  after  himself.  When  he 
wouldn't  do  a  thing,  he  blocked  my  way  also. 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  93 

I  volunteer  this  hint  to  young  people; — Your 
greatest  tempter  or  your  best  helper,  esijecially  in 
matters  pertaining  to  character,  is  apt  to  be  some 
one  very  much  lilvc  yourself.  Personal  influences 
seem  to  have  the  same  law  as  gravitation, — the  at- 
traction diminishes  with  the  distance.  In  respect 
to  morals  the  title  of  a  lecture  by  a  noted  university 
president  is  significant, — "  Education  by  Conta- 
gion."   It  is  the  "  Power  of  the  Touch." 

Companionships  Unfelt. 

While  some  companions,  like  Reddy,  indent  them- 
selves upon  one's  memory,  others  fail  to  make  more 
than  a  shadow-impression  upon  us,  although  we 
may  have  been  associated  with  them  in  the  most  in- 
teresting scenes,  and  may  have  been  partners  in 
events  that  stirred  our  souls  equally.  An  incident 
will  illustrate  this. 

I  was  recently  riding  in  a  train  through  the  dis- 
trict of  country  where  the  old  academy  was  located. 
My  seatmate  was  an  elderly  man  whose  face  at- 
tracted me  strongly,  yet  I  could  not  tell  why,  for 
there  was  no  familiar  line  in  it,  nor  was  he  espe- 
cially prepossessing.  I  am  now  confident  that  my 
attention  was  drawn  to  him  by  the  telepathic  influ- 
ence that  plays  between  two  persons  who  are  at  the 
time  in  the  same  current  of  thought  or  emotion. 
The  man  suddenly  turned  to  me,  and  without  any 
preliminary  remark,  as  if  we  had  been  conversing 
familiarly  before,  said : 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  I  :\^ent  to  a  school  somewhere 


94  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

over  the  hills  yonder/'  meutioninj^  the  name  of  my 
first  Alma  Mater. 

"  So  did  I,"  I  exclaimed,  enthusiastically.  "  In 
what  year?  " 

"  1852." 

"  Why,  then  we  must  have  been  schoolmates." 

The  gentleman  gave  me  his  name.  I  had  no  recol- 
lection of  ever  having  heard  it  before.  Mine  was  as 
strange  to  him.  But  with  the  general  life  of  the 
school,  the  doings  of  some  of  the  boys  and  the  eccen- 
tricities of  some  of  the  masters,  he  was  quite  fa- 
miliar. Among  his  reminiscences  he  began  the 
following : 

"  Three  of  us  fellows  one  day  played  hookey.  We 
spent  the  day  down  at  Poineroy's  creek.  We  were 
wading  in  water  and  mud  about  to  our  waists  when 
one  shrieked  out  '  Bloody  murder ! '  and  declared 
that  he  had  stepped  on  a  big  round  stone  that  wrig- 
gled from  under  his  feet  and  tried  to  bite  him." 

"Hold  on!"  said  L  "I  was  that  boy.  The 
stone  was  a  mud-turtle  as  big  as  a  kneeding  pan. 
We  dug  him  out " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  my  companion,  "  and  tied 
him  to  a  tree  stump,  tearing  up  a  net  for  a  rope. 
Then  we  turned  him  on  his  back  with  the  help  of  a 
swimming  plank." 

"  And  then,"  I  put  in,  "  we  tied  his  floppers,  and 
carried  him  home  hanging  from  a  fence  rail  on  our 
shoulders." 

"  Only  we  didn't  dare  to  go  home  with  him,"  cor- 
rected my  seatmate.    "  We  were  afraid  of  old  G , 


BOAEDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  95 

the  principal.    So  we  went  over  to  Mammy  Young's 
cottage.    She  killed  a  hen  for  us,  and " 

"  Only  she  didn't  kill  the  hen,"  I  prompted. 
"  We  had  to  kill  the  hen  ourselves,  pick  her  feathers 
off  and  clean  out  her  innards.  That  was  always  the 
condition  of  Mammy  Young's  giving  us  a  fricassee 
with  buckwheat  cakes  for  a  quarter." 

"  A  quarter?  "  said  my  friend.  "  You  mean  two 
bits,  for  that  was  still  the  numismatic  nomenclature 
in  that  part  of  the  Union.  And  you  have  forgotten 
the  apple-sauce  that  went  with  the  chicken.  And 
how  old  Mammy  Young  loved  us  boys,  and  would 
never  blab  on  us,  when,  after  the  most  disgraceful 
escapades  we  turned  up  at  her  house  with  an  appe- 
tite and  the  two  bits." 

Thus  we  two  old  boys  swapped  and  paralleled 
memories  for  an  hour ;  but,  strangely  as  it  seemed 
to  us  both,  neither  of  us  recollected  the  other's  per- 
sonality at  the  time  Avhen  we  were  partners  in  one 
of  the  most  exciting  scenes  of  our  boyhood.  The 
mud-turtle  and  the  hen  had  made  more  imx^ression 
on  us  both  than  had  each  other's  souls. 

Is  there  some  subtle,  unintelligible  affinity  be- 
tween certain  persons  that  makes  them  feel  one  an- 
other without  the  help  of  circumstances ;  while  be- 
tween others  there  is  a  natural  irrelation,  only  a 
"  dead  wire "  connection  that  fails  to  convey  a 
spark  of  real  spiritual  sympathy  big  enough  to 
make  recognition?  How  little  outward  communi- 
cation has  to  do  with  inward  communion !  Are  we 
men  like  chemicals,  some  of  which  will  never  unite 


96  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

with  other  chemicals  though  we  try  to  hammer  or 
fuse  them  together ;  wliile  other  substances  combine 
at  the  slightest  touch,  or  even  because  of  proximity? 
Do  not  regard  me,  then,  as  especially  selfish,  in- 
different or  case-hardened,  when  I  confess  that  the 
vast  majority  of  those  whom  I  have  met  in  after  life, 
even  in  seemingly  intimate  association,  in  boards, 
commissions,  professional  work,  neighborhood  and 
social  life,  have  consciously  influenced  me  less  than 
some  with  whom  I  have  only  touched  elbows  in  the 
passing  crowd. 

Kindergarten  Archaeology. 

I  recall  no  class  in  History  at  the  old  school. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  I  was  regarded  as  too  young 
to  chronologize  the  ages.  Yet  while  there  I  ac- 
quired a  passion  for  historical  study  which  has  ob- 
sessed me  all  my  life.  I  retain  from  those  days  a 
taste  for  grubbing  the  deep-down  archaeological 
roots  of  the  human  story. 

A  mile  or  two  away  was  a  famous  "  Indian 
mound."  It  stood  some  twenty  feet  high,  and 
covered  about  a  quarter  of  an  acre.  It  had  been 
for  generations  an  aboriginal  cemetery.  Thousands 
had  shed  their  red  skins  and  given  their  white  skele- 
tons for  this  monument  of  a  now  extinct  tribe.  It 
was  especially  famed  as  the  burial  place  of  war- 
riors. One  could  count  the  battles  of  the  tribe  by 
the  thicker  layers  of  bones,  as  one  counts  the  suc- 
ceeding civilization  of  the  entire  human  race  by  the 
ruins  of  Forum  and  Temple  piled  one  upon  another. 


BOARDING-SCHOOL  DAYS  97 

We  boys  delved  through  this  mortal  debris.  Near 
the  top  were  bits  of  skull  still  holding  the  bullets 
that  had  broken  them.  Lower  down  we  found  ar- 
row-heads in  profusion,  indicating  a  date  before 
firearms  were  generally  used  by  the  savages.  Now 
and  then  a  tomahawk  would  lie  near  to  a  heap  of 
finger  bones,  in  token  of  the  brave  hand  that  had 
wielded  it.  I  have  sat  long  on  The  Mound,  and 
tried  to  visualize  in  imagination  the  passing  of  the 
tribes  on  their  way  to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds. 
Their  lives  were  narrow,  inconsequential,  but  to 
each  one  of  them  as  important,  as  absorbing,  as  ex- 
citing as  that  of  Kaiser  or  Czar.  I  tried  to  realize 
to  myself  the  meaning  of  those  masses  of  humanity, 
as  I  did  the  meaning  of  the  grains  of  sand  on  the 
desert,  the  leaves  of  the  forest  that  strewed  the 
ground,  the  birds  that  darkened  the  sky  when  the 
flocks  passed  over  me  on  their  way  southward. 

I  remember,  long  years  afterward,  having  the 
same  emotion,  the  same  attempted  calculation,  the 
same  sense  of  the  mystery  of  it  all,  as  I  sat  on  the 
parapet  of  San  Angel o  in  Rome,  and  tried  to  count 
the  epochs  of  history  that  had  flowed  as  ceaselessly 
as  the  Tiber  at  my  feet.  I  think,  however,  I  was 
more  jostled  by  the  Time-Spirit  at  the  Indian 
Mound  than  at  Hadrian's  Tomb.  At  least  the  for- 
mer, perhaps  because  it  came  first,  made  the  deeper 
impression  of  the  multitudinous  vastness  of  hu- 
manity and  the  littleness  of  any  individual  or  any 
era. 


IV 

RELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS 

First  View  of  Death. 

MY  profession  has  thrown  me  much  among 
tragedies.  I  have  no  desire  to  depict  the 
worst  of  them  here.  Those  which  men 
write  about  in  books  or  act  on  the  stage  are  only 
surface  shadows  above  the  depths  of  common  ex- 
perience. 

My  deepest  experience  of  the  tragic  was  exceed- 
ingly commonplace.  It  was  not  when  the  warring 
nations  of  Europe  transformed  their  happy  lands 
into  charnels.  It  was  not  when  I  walked  amid  the 
ruins  of  Messina  above  the  sepulchers  of  eighty 
thousand  who  had  no  other  burial  tomb  than  the 
debris.  It  was  not  when  awakened  by  the  sound  of 
the  great  cathedral  bell  that,  during  the  Civil  War, 
announced  a  victory  by  pealing  forth  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner,  and  a  defeat  by  discordant 
clash,  as  if  the  thousands  on  the  battle-field  were 
together  shrieking  their  last  agony. 

One  afternoon  a  comrade  at  the  academy  dared 
me  to  follow  him  in  a  dive  from  the  spring-board 
into  the  great  swimming  hole. 

With  merry  laugh  he  turned  somersault  into 
the  water. 

How  that  laugh  still  rings  in  my  ears !    I  waited 

98 


EELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS  99 

on  the  spring-board  for  my  comrade  to  reappear  be- 
fore imitating  Lis  exploit.  A  half-minute  of  de- 
light ;  a  half -minute  more  of  curiosity ;  another  half- 
minute  of  consternation.  The  tiny  waves  made  by 
his  plunge  subsided ;  the  surface  of  the  pool  quietly 
reflected  the  overhanging  branches.  But  my  com- 
panion came  not.  We  waited,  I  know  not  how  long, 
before  we  called  for  help,  for  thought  was  paralyzed. 
A  vast  Vacuity,  a  horrible  Nothingness,  had  ab- 
sorbed a  human  life  as  the  atmosjjhere  absorbs  a 
broken  bubble.  We  boys  were  bubbles,  so  were  all 
the  people  in  the  villages,  in  all  the  world ;  and  that 
Nothingness  was  waiting  to  swallow  us  too ! 

An  hour  later  we  stood  around  a  white  body  on 
the  bank.  How  long  we  looked  at  it,  and  tried  to 
realize  that  it  was  he !  For  hours  and  months  and 
years  I  have  continued  to  see  him — the  body  so 
white,  the  face  so  beautiful  turned  into  marble ! 

That  hour  on  the  bank  my  thoughts  first  began 
to  tangle  themselves  in  the  inextricable  mystery  of 
death,  of  which  I  am  still  awaiting  the  solution.  I 
then  knew  that  what  I  had  thought  to  be  a  solid 
ground  beneath  me  was  but  a  thin  surface,  like  the 
film  of  ice  which  the  first  cold  day  would  put  over 
that  swimming  hole ;  and  ever  since  I  have  walked 
timorously  except  as  a  wiser  faith  has  given  me 
courage.  The  pride  of  childhood — and  no  one  is  so 
proud  and  self-suffl.cient  as  a  child  may  be — all 
shrivelled  and  shrank  into  a  sense  of  humiliation,  as 
for  the  first  time — yet  for  all  tune — I  realized  that  I 
was  a  denizen  of  the  Unknown,  and  that  nothing 


100  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

was  so  unknown  as  I  myself.  This  was  mj  first 
conscious  step  on 

"The  great  world's  altar  stairs, 
That  slope  through  darkness  up  to  God. ' ' 

The  shock  of  that  first  look  upon  death  might 
have  been  very  hurtful  to  me,  but  for  a  second  look 
which  revealed  to  me  that  the  face  of  the  Great 
Inevitable  was  not  that  of  a  monster.  For  some 
weeks  I  had  gone  about  bewildered,  frightened. 
As  the  temperature  of  the  desert  dries  up  the 
fountains,  so  the  dread  Unknown  about  me  seemed 
to  desiccate  my  life  of  all  possibility  of  enjoyment. 
That  white  marble  countenance  of  my  comrade 
looked  in  upon  me  everywhere.  It  was  at  my  bed 
at  night ;  it  stared  out  of  the  heap  as  we  scrambled 
for  the  football ;  and  the  rigid  and  stark  form  would 
start  up  at  my  side  as  I  walked. 

There  was  another  boy  in  the  school  to  whom  I 

was  greatly  attached.    Tommy was  a  loving 

fellow.  Like  myself,  he  was  far  away  from  home, 
motherless,  somewhat  lonely ;  so  we  exchanged  con- 
fidences. 

Tommy  was  suddenly  stricken  with  fatal  illness. 
With  what  muffled  feet  we  walked  up  and  down  the 
long  hallway  past  his  room,  and  then  went  to  our 
own  rooms  crying  when  the  doctor  came  out  of  the 
sick-chamber  shaking  his  head !  A  few  of  Tommy's 
most  intimate  friends  were  permitted  to  enter  his 
room  just  before  the  end  came.  On  the  bedside  sat 
the  village  minister,  a  rough  sort  of  sky-pilot,  of 


EELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS  101 

whose  big  heart  and  common  sense  I  will  have  more 
to  tell  later.  Tommy's  eyes  were  fixed  intently 
uj)on  the  minister's  face,  his  own  aglow  with  hapjiy 
emotion,  as  when  one  listens  to  a  charming  story. 
The  minister  was  translating  the  classic  Biblical 
description  of  Paradise  into  the  language  of 
familiar  woods  and  streams  where  we  boys  had 
played  together.  He  told  of  the  wonderful  change 
that  had  come  upon  the  mother  and  sister  whom 
Tommy  had  lost,  now  that  they  were  in  the  light 
that  is  fairer  than  ever  falls  from  the  earthly  sky. 
He  spoke  of  Christ  as  if  He  were  the  big  brother 
who  waits  to  welcome  us  when  we  enter  the  higher 
grade  school  called  Heaven.  The  man's  words  and 
manner  were  utterly  devoid  of  jiietistic  solemnity, 
and  as  simple  and  cheerful  as  if  the  two  were  speak- 
ing of  a  coming  vacation.  When  the  sick  boy 
caught  a  glimj)Se  of  his  playmates  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  he  made  an  effort  to  raise  his  thin  hand,  and 
gave  us  his  speechless  salutation  and  farewell. 
His  gaze  trembled  an  instant,  then  seemed  to  be 
diverted  by  a  vision  of  something  radiant.  So  his 
soul  jjassed. 

And  this,  too,  was  Death. 

The  rigid,  expressionless  features  of  my  drowned 
comrade  were  surely  only  a  material  mask  that 
Death  puts  on.  The  face  of  Tommy,  loving,  ecstatic, 
reflected  some  sort  of  gleam  from  the  very  Soul  of 
Souls,  which  we  call  the  Unknown.  I  needed  then 
that  happier  impression ;  and  it  has  stayed  with  me 
ever  since. 


102  ALONG  TKE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

Subtle  Influence  of  Places  and  Men. 

Among  the  ancients  was  a  i)ersistent  belief  that 
certain  places  are  peculiarly  sacred  to  the  gods,  who 
there  commune  with  men.  Sometimes  doubtless 
this  mystic  credulity  was  born  from  a  sense  of  awe 
awakened  by  natural  features  of  the  spot;  as,  for 
example,  Mount  Olympus,  amid  whose  sublimities 
Heaven  seemed  to  mingle  with  earth;  the  awful 
chasm  of  Delphi,  the  echoes  of  which  were  prophetic ; 
the  Oak  of  Dodona  whose  rattling  leaves  suggested 
the  babbling  of  eternities ;  the  Cave  of  Pan,  out  of 
whose  rocky  sides  a  river  leaped  full-headed  and 
resistless,  the  symbol  of  the  fates  of  men. 

Among  the  early  Jews  and  Arabs  it  was  assumed 
that  divine  manifestations  might  be  rewitnessed  at 
places  where  the  deity  had  before  appeared  or 
spoken.  Thus  the  Patriarchs  in  their  wanderings 
established  depots  of  spiritual  blessing  to  which 
they  afterward  resorted,  as  Arctic  explorers  build 
cairns  along  their  projected  routes,  and  stock  them 
with  provisions.  Abraham  revisited  Bethel,  where 
he  had  had  a  previous  blessing.  So  did  Jacob,  seek- 
ing to  renew  the  sense  of  the  divine  covenant  which 
it  was  believed  Jehovah  had  aforetime  made  with 
his  fathers. 

Similarly  the  site  of  the  old  academy  is  hallowed 
ground  in  the  minds  of  some  of  us,  now  gray-headed, 
who  sojourned  there  during  the  middle  part  of  the 
last  century.  Although  it  was  not  a  denomina- 
tional school,  nor  under  any  strictly  religious  con- 


RELIGIOUS  IMFEESSIONS  103 

trol,  yet  year  after  year  tlie  majority  of  the  scliolars 
were  led  to  consecrate  themselves  to  high  spiritual 
ideals. 

That  the  influence  of  the  spot  was  not  limited  to 
the  creation  of  passing  eiuotion,  as  is  so  often  the 
case  in  what  are  known  as  Revivals,  is  evidenced 
by  the  fact  that  among  my  comrades,  say  seventy 
boys,  there  were,  as  I  have  stated,  more  than  a 
dozen  Avho  afterward  attained  somewhat  of  distinc- 
tion as  preachers  and  leaders  in  moral  and  philan- 
thropic movements.  As  in  after  life  I  have  met 
these  men  I  have  been  impressed  with  the  practical 
turn  of  their  minds;  though  of  evident  piety  they 
had  an  abundance  of  what  has  been  called  "  sancti- 
figumption." 

Were  we  boys  under  a  special  spell  of  the  genii 
of  the  place?  I  remember,  to  borrow  the  classic 
figure,  that  I  had  my  own  Dodona  Oak  whose 
branches  roofed  a  hundred  feet  of  the  stony  hill- 
side, and  whose  gigantic  roots  made  my  first  library 
chair,  sitting  on  which  and  listening  to  the  acorns 
fall  I  received  more  inspiration  than  from  any  seat 
of  learning  I  have  since  occupied.  There  were  also 
Pisgah  heights  in  the  neighboring  hills  where  I 
used  to  go  and  sit  by  the  hour,  watching  the  smoke 
curling  from  distant  farmhouses,  and  straining  my 
soul  eyes  to  see  across  a  little  river  that  I  likened  to 
the  Jordan  that  separates  the  present  from  the 
future  world.  There  were  also  vast  silences  in  the 
depth  of  the  primeval  forests,  very  helpful  to  one 
who  should  try  to  hear  that  "  still,  small  voice  " 


104  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

■which  is  willing  to  speak  to  any  one  Avho  will  silence 
the  babble  of  his  own  thoughts. 

Yet  there  are  other  places  in  the  world  with 
physical  adjuncts  far  more  favorable  to  the  mystic 
mood  than  the  neighborhood  of  the  academy;  but 
not  even  the  Gorner  Grat  has  for  me  so  high  a 
spiritual  note,  nor  does  the  Canon  of  the  Yellow- 
stone sound  me  so  deeply.  I  have  stood  on  the 
Temple  platform  in  Jerusalem,  I  have  gazed  from 
the  dome  of  Saint  Peter's  in  Kome,  and  invoked  the 
gods  from  the  ruins  of  the  Parthenon  in  Athens. 
But  a  crotch  of  an  old  tree  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff  that 
overlooks  an  unmapped  valley  was  to  me  a  higher 
point  of  inspiration. 

Is  there  truth  in  the  medieval  theory  that  a  spiri- 
tual aura  lingers  over  some  spots,  a  subtle  influence 
from  the  souls  of  those  who  have  lodged  there, 
which  all  the  winds  of  the  lower  sky  can  never  blow 
away?  Did  the  fact  that  revivals  of  religion  had 
in  past  years  swept  over  our  happy  school  valley 
perpetuate  the  tendency  to  their  repetition?  Did 
the  knowledge  that  this  spot  had  previously  been 
sacred  to  so  many  consecrations  awaken  in  us  boys 
an  exj)ectancy  which  thus  became  a  "  prophecy  that 
fulfills  itself"? 

I  can  think  of  but  one  tangible  clue  to  this  maze 
of  speculation.  There  was,  and  had  been  for  many 
years,  in  the  little  community  a  person  about  whom 
the  religious  interest  seemed  to  centre,  or  rather 
from  whom  it  appeared  to  emanate.  He  was  the 
local  j)astor,  to  whom  I  have  referred ; — a  man  of  no 


RELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS  105 

special  loaruing;  of  exceedingly  crude,  though 
rather  lurid,  rhetoric;  but  of  a  wonderfully  deep 
symxDathetic  nature,  and  a  common-sense  shrewd- 
ness in  talking  to  boys.  He  played  football  with 
us.  ( I  here  reverently,  penitently,  apologize  to  his 
ghost,  if  it  hover  hereabouts,  for  having  once  barked 
his  shins  and  thus  prevented  his  getting  the  ball 
away  from  me. )  He  taught  us  the  tricks  of  the  wild 
game  in  the  woods,  and  also  the  tricks  of  the  devil 
in  preying  upon  us  "  young  kids."  He  could  find 
water  with  the  hazel  branch,  and  he  knew  by  some 
subtler  means  the  hidden  springs  of  motive  in  a 
boy's  soul. 

If  sanctiflcation  is  only  double-distilled  refine- 
ment and  morals  is  only  mores  or  manners  become 
second  nature,  as  some  affirm,  our  j^astor  was  cer- 
tainly no  saint.  I  have  seen  him  pause  in  the  midst 
of  a  sermon,  draw  from  his  pocket  a  plug  of  nigger- 
head  tobacco,  bite  off  a  piece  and  proceed  to  his 
"  finally  bretliren."  He  was  unread,  except  in  the 
Bible,  and  that  he  had  studied  just  as  he  studied 
garden  manures,  to  get  quicker  results,  and  to  i)ut 
stiff er  stalks  into  the  souls  of  his  parishioners. 

Of  the  strange,  but  powerful,  influence  of  this 
almost  backwoods  pastor,  I  may  give  a  telling  illus- 
tration which  I  borrow  from  some  ten  years  later. 
In  my  early  manhood  my  path  was  crossed  by  that 
of  a  very  brilliant  young  German,  He  had  gradu- 
ated from  a  famous  university,  had  travelled  much 
and  read  enormously,  written  learnedly  on  philo- 
sophical and  other  topics.     He  was  a  thorough  Ger- 


106  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

man,  and  evidently  believed  liimself  to  be  a  fair 
specimen  of  what  a  Superman  should  be,  although 
that  word  had  not  yet  ambitiously  climbed  into  use. 
He  claimed  to  have  outgrown  Christianity,  except 
as  an  archaiologist  never  outgrows  antiquity.  Re- 
ligion was  to  him  only  a  study  in  the  history  of 
psychological  science.  I  think  I  had  never  met  a 
man  Avho  was  more  "  able  to  give  a  reason  for  the 
un-taith  that  was  in  him." 

As  my  German  friend  needed  a  rest  somewhere 
among  the  high  hills,  I  recommended  my  old  school 
neighborhood.  I  had  some  misgivings  in  introduc- 
ing him  to  Pastor ;  for  a  greater  contrast  be- 

tAveen  two  intellects  could  scarcely  be  conceived. 
My  friend's  first  letters  to  me  after  his  arrival  were 
full  of  jjolite  contempt  for  this  "  Yankeefied  John 
the  Baptist  preaching  in  the  wilderness."  A  little 
later  he  expressed  a  liking  for  the  rough  diamond 
in  the  man ;  after  a  while  a  real  fondness  for  the  big 
soul  and  genial  comradeship,  "  better  than  any  doc- 
tor's medicine,  for  there  is  a  healthful  ozone  about 
the  dominie."  Before  the  season  was  over  my 
proud  scholar  and  philosopher  wrote  me  a  letter 
that  would  not  have  been  more  pathetic  if  tear- 
stained,  in  which  he  confessed  himself  an  humble, 
soul-satisfied  Christian.  His  comments  upon  the 
pastor  were  substantially  these : 

"  Philosoy)hers  think ;  this  man  has  felt." 
"Scholars  talk  about  tlie  humanities;  this 

man  talked  about  myself  and  himself,  and  he 

seemed  to  be  expert  in  both  fields." 


KELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS  107 

"  Thero  was  somethinc  solid  in  his  experi- 
ence; mine  was  only  vacunin  or  suds." 

"  He  was  no  tlieological  visionary ;  but  lie 
seemed  to  have  seen  that  greatest  of  all  visions, 
the  face  of  Jesus  Christ." 

Who  directed  this  self-sufllcient  German  sceptic 
and  made  him  turn  at  the  proj^er  cross-road?  Well ! 
A  "  tender-foot "  who  has  lost  the  trail  will  learn 
more  from  an  Indian  than  he  will  from  a  commis- 
sion of  map-makers. 

A  Boy's  Feeling. 

If  you  ask  me  about  my  own  personal  religious 
experience  at  the  school,  I  will  reply  in  the  words 
of  a  real  saint, — "  Oh,  I  have  never  had  any  ex- 
perience to  speak  of."  While  I  was  exceedingly 
sensitive  to  all  the  moods  of  nature  around  me,  my 
soul  was  as  echoless  as  a  vacuum  to  dogmatic  ap- 
peals. 

I  once  thought  I  must  have  been  born  a  spiritual 
deficient.  This  notion  was  confirmed  in  me  by  the 
judgment  of  a  strolling  phrenologist  who  belonged 
to  the  race  of  gypsy  scientists  that  has  about  passed 
away,  and  who  gave  me  twenty-five  cents'  worth  of 
examination.  He  pronounced  my  skull  to  be  lack- 
ing in  such  protuberances  as  would  indicate  rever- 
ence and  credulity.  I  abounded  only  in  spiritual 
lowlands.  This  wise  man's  opinion  might  have  per- 
manently injured  me,  were  it  not  that  shortly  after- 
ward I  submitted  my  bumps  to  the  fingering  of  a 
fifty-cent  philosopher,  who  expressed  his  amaze- 


108  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

ment  at  the  size  of  the  spiritual  hills  he  found  in  my 
cranial  landscape.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
the  former  of  these  experts  was  nearer  right,  and 
perhaps  more  honest  with  me.  For  my  sold,  simply 
wouldn't  melt  into  the  molds  of  experience  which 
were  set  for  us  by  the  approved  revival  methods  of 
that  day. 

For  instance,  much  used  to  be  made  of  what  was 
called  the  Law- work  in  a  soul ;  a  deep  sense  of  sin ; 
a  recognition  of  the  justice  of  God  should  He  be 
inclined  to  damn  us  for  our  transgressions.  I  knew 
that  I  was  as  full  of  faults  as  a  sieve  is  of  holes,  and 
I  could  keep  my  complacency,  when  the  minister 
looked  down  at  me  from  the  i)ulpit,  as  little  as  the 
sieve  can  hold  water.  But  I  couldn't  feel  myself  to 
be  a  "  damnable  "  even  of  the  pigmy  sort.  So  I  ac- 
cepted the  divine  grace  with  no  great  sense  of  relief, 
for  I  realized  no  great  need.  It  seemed  to  be  even 
more  natural  that  God  should  forgive  me  for  my 
worst  offenses  than  that  He  should  damn  me.  I 
was  sure  that  my  father  would  have  done  so,  if  I 

had  asked  him.     And  I  was  sure  that  Mr. , 

one  of  our  junior  instructors,  who  let  me  sit  on  his 
knee  when  he  corrected  my  Latin  exercises,  would 
have  done  so  too.  Indeed,  that  teacher  really  did 
know  of  some  of  my  graver  faults,  and  never  even 
reported  me  to  tlie  i^rincipal.  He  gave  me,  I  fear, 
a  clearer  idea  of  Grace  than  I  got  out  of  the  Gate- 
chism. 

For  a  year  I  was  a  rebel.  Possibly  I  would  have 
grown  up  outside  any  church  had  it  not  been  for  a 


RELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS  109 

venerable  clergyman  who  told  me  that,  as  a  child, 
I  could  no  more  assay  my  own  experiences  than  I 
could  analyze  the  philosophy  of  the  Westminster 
Creed.    He  advised  me  to  attemi)t  neither. 

Then  I  joined  the  church.  Was  it  wise?  Did 
I  know  enough?  Had  I  felt  enough?  Was  I  good 
enough?  No.  But  I  think  I  was  honest.  I  be- 
lieved  in  God's  goodness.  Did  I  not  see  it  every- 
where? So  I  said  to  myself,  "  God  will  never  go 
back  on  you.  Trust  Him,  and  go  ahead.  You  will 
get  awfully  muddled  if  you  don't." 

That,  by  the  way,  is  about  the  most  clarifying 
judgment  I  have  ever  achieved  in  all  my  moraliz- 
ings  and  all  my  religious  lucubrations. 

Sixty  Years  After  {Parenthetical). 

While  writing  the  above  my  memory  so  obsessed 
me  that  sixty-odd  years  vanished,  and  I  was  a  child 
again.  When  I  aroused  myself  I  wondered  if  the 
old  school  were  still  in  existence.  Possibly  the 
tooth  of  time  may  have  gnawed  away  all  the  houses 
of  the  tiny  village;  or  the  demon  called  Progress 
may  have  wrecked  them  into  a  modern  town  with 
ugly  brick  buildings,  tall  smoking  chimneys,  and 
corner  saloons.     I  would  go  and  see. 

A  train  ride  of  several  hundreds  of  miles,  with  a 
buckboard  supplement  of  ten  miles  further,  brought 
me  to  the  spot.  I  might  have  passed  by  the  village 
but  for  the  remark  of  the  driver,  "  We  hevn't  to  go 
no  further." 

I  disputed  with  him  for  the  moment,  charging 


no  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

him  with  having  brought  me  to  the  wrong  place. 
But  he  Avas  right.  One  halt-ruined  buikliug  was 
the  sole  monument  of  the  educational  cluster  of 
edifices  that  in  a  hundred  of  my  dreams  have  loomed 
bigger  than  those  of  any  university.  The  old  church 
still  stood  on  the  hilltoi) ;  but  it  seemed  to  my  dis- 
appointment like  a  ghostly  sentinel  watching  over 
a  battle-field  from  which  the  war  had  long  since 
drifted  away. 

But  the  hills  were  unchanged,  only  they  looked 
lower.  In  their  undulations  they  seemed  to  be 
bowing  to  welcome  one  whose  boyhood  feet  had 
tramped  them  long  ago.  The  little  river  called  out 
to  me  with  the  same  merry  laughter  of  its  ripples; 
but,  like  some  old  men,  it  seemed  dwarfed,  while  the 
swimming  hole  had  been  choked  by  the  debris  of 
half  a  century.  A  fish  broke  water  in  the  pool,  as 
if  it  said,  "  Hello,  old  chap,  we've  been  lonesome 
without  you."  A  few  ancient  trees  I  recognized 
by  their  sites  and  shapes,  but  they  had  many 
decrepit  branches  that  made  my  own  limbs  ache  in 
S3rmi)athy,  for  all  that  the  trees  seemed  to  wave  at 
me  and  say,  "  So  long,  old  boy ! "  A  big  gray 
squirrel,  doubtless  in  the  sixtieth  generation  from 
the  one  in  whose  tragic  taking  off  I  had  had  such 
guilty  part,  scolded  me  saucily  as  if  his  family  kept 
up  the  vendetta  against  the  murderer  of  his  an- 
cestor. 

A  small  country  school  is  held  in  the  part  of  the 
building  still  standing,  and  reminded  me  of  a  sucker 
growing  from  the  stump  of  an  old  tree;  for  the 


RELIGIOUS  IMPRESSIONS  111 

legends  of  the  spot  had  kept  it  "  educational."  The 
teacher  and  pupils  listened  to  my  story  of  the  past 
very  much,  I  suppose,  as  I  have  listened  to  Lanciani 
amid  the  ruins  of  Rome.  My  talk  doubtless  seemed 
as  primitive  and  fabulous,  as  I  tried  to  locate  the 
lines  of  ancient  walls  of  what  had  been  to  me  both 
Temple  and  Forum. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  tendency  of  the  mind  to  mix 
imagination  with  memory,  and  to  recollect  things 
that  were  not  just  so.  An  incident  occurred  during 
this  visit  which  made  me  fear  that  I  might  have 
been  stricken  with  that  disease  of  unconscious 
mendacity.  I  had  told  to  one  of  the  people  I  met 
how  a  lot  of  us  boys  had  one  day  pried  a  great 
boulder  out  of  its  socket  and  started  it  rolling  down 
the  long  and  steep  hill  which  ended  in  a  stone 
schoolhouse  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  I  de- 
scribed how  it  leaped  into  the  air,  taking  a  rod  at  a 
jump,  crashing  through  the  small  saplings,  strik- 
ing at  last  the  end  of  the  schoolhouse,  and  making 
the  stone  chips  fly  as  if  under  the  impact  of  a 
battering-ram.  My  listener  increduously  remarked 
that  the  schoolhouse  was  a  wooden,  not  a  stone, 
structure.  We  searched  it  out.  He  was  right.  It 
was  an  ancient  frame  building.  The  door-sill  had 
been  worn  down  by  many  generations  of  boys  and 
girls,  and  the  rot  of  years  was  in  its  rafters.  Alas 
for  me! 

But  my  relief  came.  An  older  inhabitant 
shambled  into  our  group.  He  said,  "  The  stranger 
is  right.     This  house  is  only  about  fifty-five  year 


112  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

old.  The  original  school  was  of  stun;  but  it  was 
too  small ;  beside,  it  was  pretty  well  battered  and 
dilapidated  when  they  tore  it  down." 

So  I  am  emboldened  to  spin  some  more  recollec- 
tions with  the  confidence  that  they  will  not  be  made 
of  mere  yarn. 

(I  will  enclose  in  this  parenthesis  another  one. 
The  ancient  XJ-'irsonage  is  still  standing, — or  rather 
leaning.  It  needs  a  shower  of  paint,  for  the  re- 
sources of  the  parish  would  hardly  warrant  the  pur- 
chase of  paint  by  the  can.  Its  roof  shows  the  fric- 
tion of  the  three-quarters  of  a  century  that  have 
passed  over  it. 

But  tlie  occupants  of  the  parsonage  belong  to  the 
class  that  never  grow  old.  The  minister,  who  is 
well  along  in  years,  serves  a  i^arish  ten  miles  wide 
and  twenty  miles  long.  In  this  district  are  three 
preaching  stations,  between  which  his  horse  knows 
the  way  as  well  as  the  angels  knew  the  road  between 
Bethlehem  and  Nazareth. 

The  clergyman  is  a  college-bred  man,  and  retains 
all  the  refinement  of  his  class-room  and  society. 
His  wife  is  as  cultivated  as  any  of  tlie  ladies  who 
grace  our  city  Woman's  Clubs.  Books  may  be 
fewer  than  they  could  wish,  but  on  that  account 
more  appreciated:  those  that  are  there  would  not 
be  disparaged  by  Dr.  Eliot's  Five  Foot  Shelf  of 
brain  matter. 

I  doubt  if  this  family  has  ever  received  over  a 
thousand  dollars  in  annual  salary;  yet  they  have 
educated  at  our  best  colleges  and  seminaries  six 


RELIGIOUS  IMPEESSIONS  113 

children.  Two  of  the  sons  are  useful  clergymen, 
wlio  were  not  frightened  back  from  their  convic- 
tions by  their  father's  hard  lot.  Another  son  is  a 
physician.  One  daughter  has  gone  to  tlie  foreign 
mission  field.  Another  daughter  is  at  the  head  of 
a  flourishing  school  in  the  city.  The  youngest  re- 
mains as  the  stay  of  the  home  while  father  and 
mother  are  passing  toward  the  sunset. 

I  have  seen  much  of  life  high  and  low,  with 
abundance  and  with  leanness,  honored  and  unsung ; 
but  I  know  of  few  families  more  cheerful,  who  are 
contributing  more  to  make  the  great  world  around 
them  happier  and  better,  than  this  one.  When  the 
real  history  of  our  nation  is  written  its  best-flooded 
streams  of  influence  will  be  seen  to  have  flowed 
from  such  fountains  as  these.  As  I  sat  at  the  table 
in  the  humble  parsonage  I  almost  felt  envious,  if 
not  of  their  lot,  certainly  of  their  reward. 


ADRIFT 

Spineless  Education. 

AFTER  two  years  at  the  old  academy,  where 
we  lived  "  close  to  nature's  heart "  and 
close  to  one  another,  I  was  unfortunately 
transferred  to  another  institution.  In  about  the 
Fifties  there  sprang  up  over  the  country,  with  the 
profusion  of  dandelions  on  a  spring  lawn,  "  Col- 
legiate Institutes,"  co-ed  establishments,  get-wise- 
quickly  agencies,  where  once  a  year,  with  far-flung 
advertisements  and  brass-band  accompaniment, 
beardless  boys  and  short-frocked  girls  sported 
diplomas  with  the  gusto  of  university  graduates. 

These  institutions  were  generally  owned  by 
private  corporations  of  stockholders  formed  by 
enterprising  business  men  for  the  purpose  of  boom- 
ing their  towns.  Sometimes  they  were  held  under 
heavy  mortgages  by  the  principal,  who  had  some- 
how given  the  impression  that  he  was  an  "Edu- 
cator," but  whose  chief  qualification  it  may  be  was 
his  ability  to  run  the  boarding  and  advertising  de- 
partments. 

The  teachers  were  apt  to  include  several  "  sisters 
and  cousins  and  aunts  "  of  the  principal  or  chief 

114 


ADRIFT  115 

owner.  This  faculty  was  supplemented  by  a  bevy 
of  recent  college  graduates  who  were  willing  for  a 
year  or  two  to  support  the  title  of  "  Professor  "  of 
Latin,  Greek,  History,  Botany  or  what  not,  until 
they  should  see  their  way  to  some  more  lucrative  or 
attractive  occupation. 

Providence  seemed  to  have  forgotten  me  for  a 
while,  else  why  was  I  allowed  to  essay  even  a  brief 
journey  on  one  of  those  "  royal  roads  to  learning  "? 

On  looking  back  upon  my  sojourn  in  one  of  these 
institutions,  I  cannot  recall  the  slightest  influence 
of  any  one  of  my  instructors  upon  the  healthy 
formation  of  my  character.  Indeed  I  never  knew 
one  of  them  in  a  friendly  heart-to-heart  or  even 
head-to-head  way,  and  I  doubt  if  any  of  them  was 
ever  conscious  that  there  Avas  a  timid,  lonely  lad 
who  needed  his  kindly  oversight.  I  bought  text- 
boolvs;  attended  recitations;  went  through  a  form 
of  stated  examinations,  at  which  I  passed,  as  did 
everybody  else ; — but  I  was  not  taught  to  study  any- 
thing: the  art  of  mental  application  having  been 
left  entirely  out  of  the  curriculum.  I  absorbed  no 
principles  of  a  language ;  no  beauty  of  a  classic ;  no 
hint  that  "history  is  philosophy  teaching  by  ex- 
ample," or  indeed  anything  more  than  a  dreary 
swamp  across  which  I  could  jump  on  bog  clumps 
called  "  chief  events  " ;  no  suggestion  of  any  inspir- 
ing book  of  literature;  no  friendly  guidance  of  a 
mind  wiser  than  my  own.  My  recollection  is  a 
blank  broken  by  several  nightmares.  I  was  like  a 
young  savage  roaming  for  a  while  through  the 


116  ALONG  THE  FlilENDLY  WAY 

streets  of  civilization,  and  from  sheer  loneliness 
longing  for  the  tepee. 

The  result  was,  of  course,  intellectual  disaster. 
I  came  to  hate  the  sight  of  books;  and  but  for  the 
lack  of  enterprise  and  initiative  engendered  by  my 
life  at  the  school  I  would  have  donned  a  pair  of 
thigh-boots,  and  gone  after  an  older  brother  who 
was  throwing  himself  away  in  the  gold-diggings  of 
California. 

Yet  there  was  one  respect  in  which  I  really 
profited  at  this  intellectual  cabbage  garden. 

If  my  mind  expanded  at  all  it  was  in  a  yeasty 
sense  of  its  emptiness, — not  altogether  a  bad 
acquisition  for  a  bumptious  American  lad.  I  hun- 
gered for  mental  pabulum,  and  my  appetite  was  not 
spoiled  by  the  tidbits  of  "  culture "  Avliich  were 
furnished  by  more  fashionable  schools,  nor  was  I 
made  dyspeptic  by  chunks  of  indigestible  informa- 
tion. Not  even  such  things  were  thrown  at  me.  I 
left  the  school  a  healthy  starveling. 

This  was  true  of  me  physically  as  well  as  men- 
tally, for  the  refectory  food  showed  no  more  signs 
of  having  been  prepared  in  a  diet  kitchen  than  the 
class-room  dispensary  showed  skill  in  ijedagogics. 
"Boston  brown  (black)  bread,"  soggily  cemented, 
was  the  daily  piece  de  rvsistance,  and  bread- 
pudding,  in  which  we  recognized  the  putty-fied 
hearts  of  our  breakfast  biscuits,  served  us  generally 
for  dessert. 

My  most  pleasurable  recollection  of  our  menu 
was  a  banquet  in  my  hall.     One  midnight  we  were 


ADRIFT  117 

summoned  from  our  sloop  by  the  great  Chinese  gong 
being  thrown  down  tlie  main  flight  of  stairs.  Slices 
of  brown  bread,  of  which  every  boy  had  surrepti- 
tiously foraged  a  daily  quantity  for  a  month  past, 
and  which  had  become  as  hard  as  boiler  plates,  bom- 
barded the  door  of  the  "  professor  "  in  charge  of 
our  floor.  To  this  day  the  archives  of  the  institu- 
tion have  revealed  nothing  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
perpetrators  of  the  insurrection.  Of  myself,  I  can 
only  say — and  that  I  do  with  my  hand  on  my 
heart — that  I  have  no  conscience  money  to  return  to 
the  treasury  of  the  school. 

I  am  led  to  narrate  such  incidents  by  recalling 
Goethe's  preface  to  his  renowned  autobiography,  in 
which  he  says — "  The  main  object  of  biography  is 
to  exhibit  the  man  in  relation  to  the  main  features 
of  his  times,  and  to  show  how  far  he  himself  may 
have  reflected  them."  I  may  thus  be  describing  my- 
self in  describing  events  through  which  I  passed, 
for  those  passing  incidents  may — as  some  one  face- 
tiously puts  it — be  marked  by  "  in-side-dents"  of 
more  abiding  character.  I  am  sure  that  they  af- 
fected my  after  disposition,  else  why  should  I  so 
vividly  recall  them. 

By-products  of  Education. 

It  is  possible  that  in  this  ill-tempered  criticism 
of  the  school  I  may  do  it  an  injustice.  If  the  in- 
structors did  not  help  one,  they  at  least  left  one 
alone  to  vegetate  in  such  fertile  spots  as  one  might 
light  ux)on.     Amid  the  struggles  of  after  years  I 


118  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

have  often  taken  counsel  of  tlie  thoughts  and  pur- 
poses that  swayed  me  in  those  days  of  untutored 
vagabondage.  I  can  appreciate,  although  I  cannot 
appropriate  to  myself,  something  that  the  great  Sir 
Humphrey  Davy  said  of  his  boyhood, — "After  all,  I 
consider  it  fortunate  that  I  was  left  much  to  myself 
when  a  child,  and  imt  upon  no  particular  plan  of 
study,  and  that  I  enjoyed  much  idleness  at  school. 
I  perhaps  owe  to  these  circumstances  the  little 
talents  that  I  have  and  their  peculiar  application." 
Sir  Humphrey's  brain  was  so  healthy  that  it  could 
"  feed  on  its  own  fat,"  but  most  boys  survive  in- 
tellectually only  by  nourishment  wisely  admin- 
istered. 

If  the  influence  of  the  instruction  of  the  school 
described  was  nil,  I  learned  some  things  from  my 
comrades  that  have  stayed  by  me.  A  boy  chal- 
lenged me  to  lie  between  the  upper  and  lower  tim- 
bers of  the  railroad  bridge  while  the  train  passed 
over  us  within  two  feet  of  our  backs.  The  heavy 
freight  seemed  an  eternity  long,  for  it  stopped  mid- 
way the  bridge,  ignoring  the  fact  that  two  silly 
urchins  were  having  their  souls  crushed  into  a  jelly 
of  fright  beneath  its  creaking  wheels.  The  weight 
of  that  train  has  ever  since  been  heavy  upon  me. 

By  another  incident  I  learned  to  have  a  sane 
hesitancy  before  doubtful  ventures.  A  playmate 
challenged  me  to  swim  with  him  across  the  river. 
I  managed  to  reach  the  farther  bank  when  a  gur- 
gling call  just  behind  me  showed  that  my  companion 
was  sinking  from  exhaustion.     I  managed  to  grasp 


ADKIFT  119 

the  low  limb  of  a  tree  that  hung  over  tlie  water,  and 
to  extend  to  him  my  feet.  He  toolv  that  bait  as 
tenaciously  as  a  crab  would  have  done,  and  so  he 
was  safely  landed.  I  have  been  waked  at  night 
many  a  time  with  the  question,  "  Will  his  fingers 
hold  on?  "  And  have  turned  over  to  sleep  with 
his  coughing  reply,  "  All  right,  Jim." 

About  the  same  time  I  felt  my  first  stir  of  real 
ambition.  It  was  during  the  Fremont  campaign 
for  the  Presidency.  In  the  neighborhood  of  the 
school  Henry  Ward  Beecher  addressed  a  three-acre 
lot  full  of  people.  While  describing  very  clearly 
the  political  lines  of  the  battle  between  Fremont 
and  Buchanan  he  suddenly  paused,  and,  looking 
toward  the  extreme  end  of  the  field,  cried  out, 
— "  Who  is  that  crawling  under  the  fence?  Why, 
I  declare  it  is  Millard  Fillmore !  "  So  realistic  was 
his  description  of  the  entrance  of  the  third  party 
into  the  campaign  that  those  on  the  platform,  in- 
cluding the  chairman  of  the  meeting,  rose  from 
their  seats,  some  jumping  upon  their  chairs,  and 
craned  their  necks  in  the  direction  pointed  by  Mr. 
Beecher's  finger,  for  the  instant  expecting  to  see 
the  redoubtable  figure  of  His  Excellency,  the  then 
President  seeking  reelection,  crouching  on  all  fours 
beneath  the  fence  rail. 

This  gave  me  my  first  impression  of  the  tremen- 
dous i)ower  of  oratory.  I  began  to  say  to  myself, 
"What  is  the  use  of  drifting  like  a  slab  down- 
stream when  one  may  control  the  current  of  his 
own  and  other  people's  lives?  "  On  returning  to  the 


120  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

school  I  sat  half  the  night  with  my  feet  on  the  win- 
dow-sill, looking  at  the  stars,  and  thinking  con- 
fusedly of  something  like  what  many  years  after- 
ward I  read  in  Schiller's  "  Wallenstein  " : 

' '  In  your  own  bosom  are  your  Destiny 's  stars. 
Confidence  in  yourself,  promptness,  resolution, 
These  are  your  favoring  stars." 

It  must  have  been  that  one  of  the  stars  I  hap- 
pened to  be  watching  winked  at  me,  and  sent  me  a 
sort  of  sarcastic  ray ;  for  my  conceit  was  suddenly 
"  knocked  into  pie  "  by  the  thought  that  only  such 
men  as  Mr.  Beecher  have  any  stars  inside  them 
which  they  may  consult.  Or,  if  others  have  them, 
they  are  as  confused  and  indistinct  as  the  Milky 
Way,  and  are  of  no  value  for  introspective  astrol- 
ogers. I  remember  stopjiing  suddenly  in  my  vain 
cogitations,  calling  myself  a  fool,  and  climbing 
sheepishly  into  the  top  story  of  my  double-decked 
bed.  My  roommate,  who  occupied  the  lower  floor  of 
said  dormitory,  confirmed  my  suspicion  that  I  had 
been  somewhat  luny  by  i^romptly  calling  me  a  sleep- 
walking jackass  as  I  climbed  up  over  him. 

The  Goethean  method  I  have  adopted  in  this  nar- 
rative will  allow  another  story  for  the  sake  of  its 
moral.  Among  our  instructors  was  one  of  Falstaf- 
flan  dimensions.  He  was  a  religious  devotee,  and 
spent  more  time  in  prayer-meetings  than  in  master- 
ing the  science  he  was  expected  to  teach.  Though 
prosy  enough  in  the  class-room,  lie  put  his  whole 
three  hundred  pounds  avoirdupois  into  his  Hallelu- 


ADKIFT  121 

jahs.  There  was  one  hyinn  especially  adapted  to 
his  voice  and  shape.  The  chorus,  if  1  remember 
correctly,  began: 

*  *  The  Judgment  Day  is  rolling  round. ' ' 

The  "  Professor  "  would  i)ivot  his  huge  hulk  on  a 
chair,  and  sway  his  body,  like  a  roly-poly,  in  time 
with  the  music.  I  never  understood  how  he  exe- 
cuted the  stunt  until,  years  after,  I  saw  the  newly 
invented  gyroscope  device.  One  night,  when  either 
his  enthusiasm  or  the  incessant  circular  motion 
swirled  his  brain,  the  mighty  mass  lost  its  balance, 
and  rolled  on  the  floor.  Though  the  rest  of  the  as- 
semblage wei'c  convulsed  with  laughter  the  rapt 
saint  did  not  for  an  instant  lose  his  equanimity,  but 
repi voted  himself  on  the  chair,  took  up  the  refrain, 
and  continued  his  revolutions  as  undisturbed  as  the 
revolving  earth. 

From  that  night  on  I  have  had  a  disiDOsition  to 
discount  at  the  bank  of  common  sense  enthusiasts 
of  all  sorts.  Perhaps  we  are  all  cranks ;  but  unfor- 
tunately some  of  us  have  crooked  handles  which 
make  our  gyrations  a  little  more  noticeable. 

About  this  time  I  became  infatuated  with  the 
drama,  and  through  a  peculiar  circumstance.  I 
had  never  yet  been  inside  a  theatre,  nor  had  I  read  a 
play.  In  the  village  was  a  Methodist  minister  of 
the  old-fashioned  type  who  devoted  his  Sunday 
evening  sermon  to  the  edification  of  such  boys  as 
could  keep  awake  during  the  service.  One  night  he 
held  the  fork  over  hell,  and  grilled  the  whole  dra- 


122  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

matic  fratornity  from  Liviiis  Andronicus  down  to 
Edwin  Forrest,  who  was  then  starring  the  coun- 
try. The  preacher's  peroration  was  memorable: 
"  Young  men,  beware !  Beware  especially  of 
Shakespeare !  His  is  the  most  alluring,  diabolically 
alluring,  literature  ever  penned." 

I  knew  uothing  of  Shakespeare,  but  being  just  at 
the  time  of  life  when  one  is  looking  for  alluring 
things  of  all  sorts,  I  surreptitiously  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  wicked  William.  My  roommate 
and  I,  with  the  bed-blanket  over  the  window  and  a 
pillow  hung  before  the  ventilator,  dialogued  play 
after  play.  Were  it  not  that  neither  of  us  kids  had 
sufficient  brain  development  to  understand  and 
catch  the  rush  of  what  we  read,  we  might  have  run 
away  and  joined  a  troupe  of  strolling  showmen.  T 
have  ever  since  held  that  the  preacher's  art  is  one  of 
peculiar  difflculties;  that  sermons  are  often  boom- 
erangs, and  go  in  directions  quite  different  from  the 
speaker's  original  aim. 

Sinister  Influences. 

Among  our  instructors  was  a  young  man,  a  col- 
lege graduate,  who  was  appointed  to  teach  Greek. 
He  was  a  brilliant  fellow,  handsome  as  the  devil, 
who  is  said  to  be  a  gentleman  at  least.  As  there 
were  only  two  or  three  of  us  who  were  beginners  in 
the  tongue  of  Homer  and  Demosthenes,  our  in- 
structor used  to  make  us  come  to  his  private  room 
for  recitation.  Here  he  need  not  interrupt  his  own 
quiet  smoke,  but  with  his  feet  on  the  table  in  true 


ADRIFT  123 

university  style  could  nicanage  to  get  through  the 
lesson  in  as  short  a  time  as  suited  his  convenience. 
But  as  it  would  not  do  to  dismiss  the  class  until  the 
bell  rang,  our  instructor  iilled  out  the  time  with 
conversation  whicli  made  uj)  for  its  lack  of  Attic 
Salt  by  its  salaciousness  in  other  respects.  There 
was  something  fascinating  about  the  fellow ;  but  on 
leaving  his  room  I  felt  as  I  once  did  when  watching 
a  cobra  expand  his  venomous  head  into  a  beautiful 
hood. 

Did  I  misjudge  this  man?  Not  at  all.  Boys  can 
scent  an  unsavory  soul  as  readily  as  dogs  know  beg- 
gars and  sneak-thieves  from  gentlemen.  In  after 
years  I  followed  the  career  of  this  individual  with 
much  interest.  He  became  a  lawyer ;  a  popular  poli- 
tician; was  elected  to  the  bench  of  his  State  by 
popular  vote.  At  length  he  was  denounced  by  the 
Bar  Association,  and  removed  from  office  for  vari- 
ous offenses  against  common  justice. 

If  as  a  lad  I  had  little  merit,  I  had  at  least  a  pride 
that  was  extremely  sensitive  to  anything  like  de- 
preciation. I  was  perhaps  the  smallest  in  size 
among  my  classmates.  This  suggested  that  at  the 
annual  exhibition,  advertised  as  "  The  Commence- 
ment," I  should  be  the  first  declaimer, — the  thin 
point  of  the  oratorical  wedge  which  should  "  split 
the  ears  of  the  groundlings."  I  was  irritated  by  the 
proposal  to  show  me  up  for  my  lack  of  bulk  and 
years.  The  teacher  having  charge  of  the  ceremonies 
was  very  gracious,  and  promised  to  have  my  precoc- 
ity exhibited  further  down  the  program,     A  few 


124  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

days  later  I  saw  a  printer's  proof  of  tlie  program. 
My  name  was  down  as  that  of  first  speaker.  Never 
was  a  hornet  more  filled  with  rage  than  I  was.  I 
buzzed  straight  into  the  teacher's  room  with  my 
protest. 

The  man  smiled  coniiilacently,  and  replied : 

"  Why,  my  lad,  you  are  not  the  first  on  the  pro- 
gram.   You  have  been  misinformed." 

I  whipped  out  the  galley  proof,  and  threw  it  down 
on  the  table  before  him.  He  colored  slightly,  then 
resumed  his  patronizing  smile. 

"  Why  no,  my  boy,  you  are  not  the  first  on  the 
program ;  not  at  all ;  not  at  all.  The  first  is  music 
by  the  band ;  the  next  prayer  by  the  ijrincipal ;  you 
are  not  until  third." 

I  have  since  felt  indignation  at  some  people  and 
contempt  for  others,  and  yet  have  held  my  tongue ; 
but  this  double  dose  of  the  mixtui-e  of  the  two  was 
overmuch  for  my  size  and  inexperience.  What  I 
said  I  do  not  remember ;  but  I  am  sure  that  I  said  it 
with  full  oratorical  gusto  and  passion,  for  it  started 
a  similar  feeling  in  my  auditor, — always  a  sign  of 
eloquence. 

"  Sit  down,  sir! "  he  cried,  with  a  stamp  of  his 
foot  that  shook  the  room.  He  then  tried  to  impress 
upon  me  the  fact  that  as  a  mere  boy  I  liad  nothing 
to  say  about  whether,  wlien  or  how  I  should  appear 
at  "  The  Commencement."  He  even  ventured  to  ac- 
cuse me  of  dishonoralile  methods  in  spying  out  his 
private  business  at  the  jirinter^s. 

A  few  weeks  later  my  father  sent  me  a  letter 


ADRIFT  125 

which  he  had  received  from  the  principal,  express- 
ing the  hoije  that  I  would  return  to  the  school  for 
the  next  term,  and  ending  with  the  Avords, — "  We 
are  doing  exceedingly  Avell  by  your  son."  I  replied 
to  my  father  that  it  was  doubtless  true  that  the 
school  was  doing  well  by  me — so  many  hundred 
dollars  a  year — but  that  I  was  doing  exceedingly  ill 
by  the  school.  Indeed,  I  refused  pointblank  to 
shadoAv  myself  again  Avith  its  door  lintel. 

With  this  early  taste  of  "  authority  "  I  was  in  a 
fair  Avay  to  grow  up  a  revolutionist.  I  was  just  at 
the  age  Avhen  one  needs  to  believe  in  the  goodness, 
especially  the  honesty,  of  one's  superiors.  I  kncAV 
of  a  young  mastiff,  the  kindest  brute  that  ever 
played  with  a  child ;  but  by  one  unjust  cut  of  a  Avhij) 
he  Avas  made  to  revert  to  the  savage  state,  and  had 
to  be  shot.  Some  men  have  been  unmade  in  the 
same  way.  K^o  mere  ethical  precepts,  hoAvever  ex- 
alted, or  however  illustrated  by  the  lives  of  saints 
and  heroes  of  whom  Ave  only  read  in  books,  ever 
make  such  an  impression  on  our  characters  as  does 
the  conduct  of  those  Ave  actually  kuoAV  and  are  pre- 
sumed to  reverence  for  their  influential  i)ositions. 
Can  you  blame  me  if  my  favorite  Bible  text  for  some 
time  after  the  incident  just  recorded  Avas  "  BeAvare 
of  men"? 

A  Friendly  Rescue. 

AVhen  I  left  the  educational  incubator  described 
above  I  was  due  to  enter  college,  for  we  matricu- 
lated at  an  earlier  age  then  than  noAvadays.    I  real- 


126  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

ized,  however,  that  I  was  totally  unprepared  to  do 
so  either  in  mental  habit  or  definite  knowledge  of 
the  subjects  I  was  presumed  to  have  studied.  But 
for  an  ambition,  one  half  pride  and  the  other  half 
sheer  doggedness  which  would  not  die  down  in  spite 
of  an  inward  conviction  that  it  was  vain,  I  would 
have  abandoned  the  purpose  of  entering  any  form 
of  i^rofessional  life.  But  what  could  I  do?  I  must 
live.  And  for  business  life  I  had  neither  taste  nor 
adaptability;  for  art  or  any  sort  of  artisanry  no 
talent. 

I  felt  a  strong  drawing  of  my  feet  toward  the 
Great  Highway  where  so  many  wander  without 
definite  purpose  until  they  lose  all  power  of  per- 
sonal initiative.  As  I  recall  those  doleful  days, 
and  bless  Providence  that  had  not  really  forgotten 
me,  I  put  my  gratitude  in  the  words  of  Charles 
Kingsley  after  a  somewhat  similar  experience : 

"  Saved — saved  from  the  wild  pride  and 
darkling  tempests  of  scepticism,  and  from  the 
sensuality  and  dissipation  into  which  my  own 
rashness  and  vanity  had  hurried  me.  Saved 
from  a  hunter's  life  on  the  prairies,  from  be- 
coming a  savage,  and  perhaps  worse." 

From  casting  myself  adrift  I  was  saved  by  sev- 
eral agencies.  First  was  my  remembrance  of  the 
Old  Academy  among  the  mountains,  to  which  my 
affection  turned  warmly  after  my  unfortunate  ex- 
perience elsewhere.  The  ideals  there  inculcated 
had  left  in  me  something  like  an  inheritance  which 


ADRIFT  127 

my  su])8oqnent  educational  vagabondage  had  not  en- 
tirely s(]uandored.  Then  I  received  letters  from  my 
brother,  almost  a  generation  older  than  I, — letters 
Avritten  from  a  far  western  mining  camp,  in  which 
he  begged  me  never  to  yield  to  the  vagrant  impulse. 

Besides,  I  thought  of  my  religious  consecration, 
an  almost  infantile  act,  the  wisdom  of  which  I  some- 
times questioned,  but  the  power  of  which  I  never 
ceased  to  feel.  I  still  believe  that  that  seemingly 
Ijlundering  boyish  act  was  among  the  wisest  things 
I  have  ever  done.  I  couldn't  forget  that  once  I  had 
closed  my  eyes,  and  reaching  out  toward  that  vague 
Something  we  call  God,  I  had  said  "  I  will !  "  The 
echo  of  that  resolution  has  come  back  to  me  a  thou- 
sand times,  "  I  must !  " 

I  make  also  this  grateful  record  here.  In  my 
home  town  was  a  young  lawyer  of  rare  ability  and 
fast-growing  reputation  at  the  bar.  He  encouraged 
me  to  stick  to  my  purpose  regarding  a  college 
course,  and  when  I  alleged  my  lack  of  preparation 
he  said,  "  Come  to  my  oliflee  an  hour  every  morn- 
ing." Notwithstanding  his  absorption  in  his  own 
])rofessional  duties  he  insisted  in  drilling  me  in  my 
Latin  and  Greek,  incidentally  talking  into  me  some 
of  his  own  high  ideals.  My  friend  has  since  sat  on 
the  Supreme  Bench  of  the  State.  In  common  with 
multitudes  I  have  rendered  homage  to  his  robe; 
but,  as  one  may  imagine,  I  have  always  seen  be- 
neath it  his  great  heart,  and  have  felt  more  grateful 
to  him  than  has  many  a  prisoner  whom  he  has  dis- 
charged. 


128  ALOISTG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

A  Yery  Reverential  Parenthesis. 

When  I  had  written  the  above  lines  about  Judge 

,  I  passed  into  a  state  of  reverie,  a  mixed 

meditation  on  what  occurred,  what  might  have  oc- 
curred had  it  not  been  for  the  Judge's  kindly  touch 
at  the  opi^ortune  moment  so  many  years  ago,  and 
the  debt  of  gratitude  I  owed  him.  I  determined  to 
write  to  him,  and  tell  him  what  was  in  my  heart. 

"  My  Dear  Judge : 


"  I  am  just  passing  my  seventieth  birthday, 
and  quite  naturally  am  indulging  in  reminiscences. 
One  of  the  most  pleasing  of  my  recollections  is  asso- 
ciated with  yourself.    I  was  about  sixteen,  en  route 

for  college.  I  was  poorly  prepared  to  enter . 

Malediction  on  a  certain  boarding-school  that  had 
fed  me  more  on  brown  bread  than  on  any  real  brain 
pabulum!  I  was  out  of  health,  and  tempted  to 
abandon  a  college  course.  You  cheered  me  up; 
chinned  me  with  wholesome  talk,  including  some 
liints  about  Latin  grammar.  You  helped  me  tighten 
up  my  loin  strap  and  take  a  deeper  breath. 

"  T  imagiue  that  vou  have  no  recollection  of  this. 
Why  should  you  have?  To  help  a  poor  fellow  was 
as  natural  for  you  as  it  is  for  a  sugar-maple  tree  to 
exude  sap.  But  I  cannot  forget  it.  You  then 
headed  me  toward  whatever  I  have  amounted  to  in 
])rofessional  life.    W^e  speak  of  '  turning  points  '  in 

life.    Mine  was  on  the  corner  of and 

Streets,  in  ,  where  I  one  day  stood  a  long 

time  thinking  as  I  was  coming  from  your  office. 

"  I  cannot  let  my  three-quarters  of  a  century  run 
out  without  reminding  you  of  your  goodness,  of 
which  I  have  often  thought  during  the  last  sixty 
years.    Please  accept  my  belated  acknowledgment 


ADKIFT  129 

of  indebtedness.  You  have  had  many  honors  from 
your  contemporaries.  May  I  throw  a  tiny  bouquet 
into  the  pile? 

**  'Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me 
'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood.* 

Pardon  my  intrusion,  my  dear  Judge;  but  I  just 
can't  help  it." 

This  letter  brought  me  a  characteristic  reply 
from  the  patriarch  of  the  legal  profession. 

"  My  Dear ■ : 

"  Your  kind  letter  of  the  30th  ult.  occasioned 
a  veritable  surprise.  For  all  my  search  into  my 
memory  has  failed  to  produce  recollection  of  the 
incident  about  which  you  wrote. 

"  That  you  remembered  it  and  attribute  to  it  some 
influence  on  the  career,  etc. — is  exceedingly  gratify- 
ing to  me.  An  old  man  at  times  inclines  to  feel  that 
he  has  been  of  little  use  to  the  world.  I  confess  that 
I  read  your  letter  attributing  to  me  some  oood  influ- 
ence on  you  with  tears  of  gratitude.  I  thank  you 
very  much  for  telling  me. 

"  A  few  weeks  ago  I  occupied  some  leisure  in  dic- 
tating to  my  stenographer  my  earliest  recollections 
of  the  buildings  in  our  town,  and  mentioned  the  one 
in  which  you  lived  when  a  boy. 

"  Thanking  you  again,  \ 


y. 


Judge has  passed  on  at  tlie  age  of  eighty- 


130  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

four.  I  am  very  glad  that,  thongli  at  such  an  age 
memory  is  apt  to  be  more  of  a  sieve  than  a  pan,  I 
stopped  up  one  of  the  holes  with  so  pleasant  a  re- 
minder. 

In  contrast  with  the  generous  encouragement 
given  me  by  this  friend  I  may  tell  something  that 
my  father  told  me  many  years  after.  He  said, 
"  When  you  were  about  to  enter  college  my  busi- 
ness was  somewhat  embarrassed.  My  lawyer,  a 
man  of  experience  and  j)rosumed  to  know  men,  ad- 
vised me  not  to  assume  the  added  responsibility  of 
financing  your  education.  He  did  not  confine  him- 
self to  the  business  aspects  of  the  case,  but  ex- 
i:)ressed  the  opinion  that  you  didn't  seem  to  him  to 
be  cut  out  for  a  professional  career.  You  were  too 
diffident,  lacking  physique.  The  money  spent  on 
you  would  probably  bo  wasted,  etc.  I  wasn't  sure 
but  that  he  was  right,  for  you  were  as  yet  rather 
green  in  the  bud.  But  the  tone  of  the  man  incensed 
me.  I  determined  that,  come  what  would  to  my 
financial  position,  I  was  going  to  see  you  through, 
at  least  fear  enough  to  let  you  prove  yourself.     I 

didn't  tell  you  of  Mr. 's  opinion  at  the  time, 

for  I  hate  anything  that  is  apt  to  take  the  heart 
out  of  a  young  fellow's  ambition;  and  just  then  I 
thought  that  you  showed  some  sign  of  depression. 
Not  that  you  are  a  generation  off  from  danger  of 
juTcnile  mistakes,  it  won't  hurt  you  to  know  that 
everybody  was  not  inclined  to  invest  in  your  youth- 
ful prospects.'* 

Had  T  known  of  this  lawyer's  opinion  of  me  as  a 


ADRIFT  131 

boy,  and  had  I  not  been  kept  afloat  by  my  other 
friend's  kindly  words,  I  would  certainly  have  given 
up.  And  then?  Well !  Perhaps  my  father's  law- 
yer was  the  shrewder  observer  of  the  two. 

The  Judge's  kindly  office  at  that  critical  time  of 
my  life  has  prompted  me  to  a  resolution,  namely,  to 
seek  to  encourage  every  young  man  in  reaching  his 
own  highest  endeavors.  Some  attempts  to  do  this 
have  brought  me  the  keenest  pleasure. 

I  will  insert  here,  lest  I  forget  it,  an  incident  that 
octcurred  many  years  later.  One  dark  and  dismal 
night  I  was  sitting  late  in  my  library.  A  storm  of 
sleet  had  driven  everybody  from  the  streets,  except 
the  most  miserable  and  the  most  desperate.  My 
front  door-bell  rang.  As  the  servants  had  retired,  I 
opened  the  door  myself.  No  one  was  there.  A  few 
moments  later  the  bell  sounded  again.  A  young 
fellow  of  nineteen  or  twenty  stood  outside.  He 
hesitated  to  make  Imown  his  errand,  and  but  for  my 
insistence  I  think  he  Avould  have  run  away  without 
telling  it.  I  saw  that  he  was  neither  a  beggar  nor  a 
depredator,  and  insisted  upon  his  coming  into  the 
cheer  of  the  library.  He  there  told  me  his  story. 
He  was  out  of  employment;  the  times  were  hard, 
and  nothing  offered.  He  was  trying  to  support  his 
mother  and  sister,  but  had  reached  the  last  bit  of 
bread.  In  utter  discouragement  he  had  started  out 
in  the  storm  rather  than  sit  idly  at  home,  in  useless 
anticipation  of  the  coming  misery.  But  for  his  love 
for  those  dependent  upon  him  he  would  have  made 
a  quick  exit  from  his  personal  troubles  in  some  way 


132  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

however  tragic.  His  mind  seemed  to  be  giving  way 
as  if  the  blinding  sleet  had  entered  his  brain.  See- 
ing a  light  ill  my  window  he  had  felt  a  resistless 
craving  for  a  kindly  word. 

I  have  had  some  honors  in  the  world,  but  none 
more  pleased  me  than  this  testimony  that  I  was  not 
known  in  my  neighborhood  for  hardness  or  indif- 
ference to  my  fellow-men. 

The  young  man  confessed  that  after  first  ringing 
the  bell  he  had  gone  away,  doubtless  from  a  sense 
of  dignity  that  forbade  his  intruding  himself  upon 
a  stranger.  But  that  yearning  for  a  human  touch 
brought  him  back.  I  cheered  the  young  fellow  as 
well  as  I  could,  and  promised  to  stand  by  him  in  a 
small  way,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  a  man  of  gentle- 
manly instincts  and  breeding;  yet,  like  so  many 
others,  that  he  was  caught  in  that  first  swirl  of  the 
maelstrom  of  discouragement  w^hich  so  often  proves 
fatal.  Had  I  not  myself  felt  a  little  of  the  blinding, 
bewildering  spray  of  that  vortex? 

[Twenty  years  later  I  congratulated  that  man  on 
his  prosjierity  as  a  merchant,  the  community  on 
having  so  public-spirited  a  citizen, — and  myself  for 
having  sat  uji  late  one  night  and  answered  my  own 
door-bell.] 

A  Teacher  Taught. 

While  waiting  to  enter  college  I  acted  for  a 
month  as  teacher  of  a  small  district  school.  The 
principal,  an  intimate  friend,  had  been  taken  ill  and 
requested  me  to  act  as  his  temporary  substitute. 


ADRIFT  133 

He  warned  me  of  one  boy  who  would  probably  give 
me  trouble.  This  was  an  overgrown  Irish  lad  whose 
bulk,  like  Saul's  stature,  gave  him  leadership  among 
the  pupils. 

"I  have  flogged  John  several  times,"  said  my 
friend,  "  but  I  would  not  advise  you  to  attempt  it, 
unless  your  size  sadly  belies  your  pugilistic  ability." 

The  first  morning  at  the  school  things  moved 
very  quietly.  I  thought,  however,  that  I  detected  a 
sort  of  Donnibrook  Fair  gleam  in  John's  eye.  There 
was  also  a  forced  good-behavior  manner  about  the 
other  boys  as  they  filed  out  at  the  noon  recess 
which  suggested  the  fair  sky  we  call  a  "  weather- 
breeder."  The  afternoon  realized  my  suspicious. 
Bedlam  reigned. 

At  the  close  of  the  session  I  asked  John  to  remain 
a  moment.  He  came  up  to  my  desk  somewhat  in  the 
mien  of  Goliath  of  Gath.  But  I  thought  I  detected 
in  his  broad  Hibernian  face  more  good-natured  dev- 
iltry than  flendishuess. 

"  John,"  I  said,  "  I  believe  that  you  are  at  the 
bottom  of  the  disorder  in  the  school." 

He  grinned  as  if  he  felt  complimented.  I  wished 
at  the  moment  that  I  could  put  on  an  extra  fifty 
pounds  to  my  weight ;  but  John's  heft  didn't  allow 
me  to  inflate  my  courage,  I  remembered  the  saying 
of  some  great  general, — "  If  you  are  sure  you  can't 
whip  your  enemy  don't  try  to ;  rather  make  alliance 
with  him,  and  let  him  help  you  whip  some  of  your 
other  enemies."    The  counsel  seemed  good  to  me. 

"  John,  sit  down  here ;  let's  have  a  talk." 


134  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

I  offered  him  a  ch<air  on  the  platform  where  I  was 
sitting.     John's  grin  softened  into  a  smile. 

"  John,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

The  smile  became  quite  amiable. 

"  You  can  make  the  boys  do  anything  you  like." 

He  nodded  assent. 

"  Say,   John,   give    up   your   pranks   until   Mr. 

,  the  principal,  comes  back.     I'm  not  your 

boss.  I'm  only  your  guest  in  the  school.  Help  me 
to  keep  order." 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  asked  John  in  a  somewhat 
incredulous  tone. 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  I  replied.  "  A  fellow  like  you 
can  just  as  well  captain  the  boys  for  good  as  for 
bad.     Try  it." 

John  got  up  and  shook  his  huge  bulk  as  if  he 
wanted  to  get  himself  all  together ;  then  looking  me 
straight  in  the  eye  he  said, 

"  Mr. ,  I'll  do  it  for  you." 

We  had  perfect  order  from  that  day  on.  I  learned 
that  before  school  the  next  morning  John  had 
threatened  to  wallop  any  fellow  that  threw  a  spit- 
ball  or  shuffled  his  feet  during  the  day. 

John  and  I  became  chums.  He  would  walk  home 
with  me  in  the  afternoons, — a  really  lovable  fellow 
in  spite  of  a  disposition  to  scrap. 

"  John,"  I  said,  "  why  didn't  you  behave  as  well 
when  the  principal  was  here?  I  understand  that  he 
flogged  you  several  times." 

"  That's  thrue,"  said  John.  "  He's  flogged  me  to 
behave,  but  he  never  asJced  me  to." 


ADKIFT  135 

I  put  that  answer  down  in  my  code  of  maxims  for 
dealing  with  one's  fellow-men.  Often  it  has  come 
to  my  mind,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  timely 
I'emembrance  of  John  has  saved  me  from  getting 
the  worst  of  some  scrimmages  in  after  life. 


VI 

COLLEGE  DAYS 

Temptations. 

I  TAKE  little  stock  in  what  many  writers  of  ad- 
vice to  youDg  people  consider  important, 
namely,  decisive  moral  battles,  the  issues  of 
which  determine  subsequent  character.  Our  ethical 
dispositions  are  ordinarily  slowly,  not  suddenly, 
formed.  The  undermining  of  morality  is  apt  to  be 
due  to  insidious  sapping  beneath  the  foundation  of 
principles  rather  than  to  furious  assaults  upon 
character  by  the  great  fiend. 

Viciousness  is  often  acquired  not  from  violent 
temptation,  but  from  continuous  contact  with  im- 
moral comrades,  as  physical  disease  is  engendered 
by  contagion.  But  more  commonly  a  man  is  his 
own  tempter;  he  becomes  degenerate  through  the 
habit  of  low-grade  thinking,  when  passion  soddens 
the  judgment,  and  lasciviousness  blears  one's  higher 
ideals.  We  are  the  victims  of  self-hypnotism,  a  sort 
of  auto-intoxication  with  our  evil  desires.  Cicero's 
advice  is  always  timely, — "Hold  off  from  sensual 
thoughts,  or  soon  you  can  think  nothing  else.'^ 

Yet  there  are  times  when  every  man  must  go 
down  into  the  "  Valley  of  Decision,"  and  either  ride 
out  victor  or  crawl  out  vanquished.    I  had  my  fight 

136 


COLLEGE  DAYS  137 

soon  after  entering  college.  I  fell  in  with  a  set  of 
'•  royal  good  fellows."  Within  a  few  weeks  we  had 
exhausted  interest  in  reminiscences  of  earlier  school- 
days, and  swapped  to  weariness  our  pet  ambitions 
for  the  future.  The  mental  vacuum  thus  created 
must  be  filled  with  something  else  to  save  us  from 
ennui,  unless  we  were  to  break  up  our  pleasant 
coterie  and  become  student-monks  in  our  separate 
cells. 

Cards  were  the  fashionable  panacea  for  ills  pro- 
duced by  over-study,  over-eating,  over-smoking  or 
laziness.  Soon  the  single  game  after  supper  became 
prolonged  into  a  series  which  lasted  until  midnight. 
We  sat  with  double  curtains  at  the  Avindow,  thick 
padded  ventilators,  dense  tobacco  smoke  and  whis- 
pered confab. 

One  night  after  our  usual  play  either  my  fairy 
godmother  or  my  rebellious  conscience — or  was  it 
the  extra  pipe  of  tobacco? — kej^t  me  long  awake. 
To  weary  myself  to  sleej)  I  began  a  computation, 
thus: 

Three  hours  a  night  for  three  years  —  3,600 
hours — 72,000  ]iages — 180  volumes  of  solid  read- 
ing— a  mind  well-informed  to  be  added  to  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  class-room.  I  felt  after  that  common- 
sense  view  of  the  business  of  life  as  if  Euclid,  Ar- 
chimedes and  the  Jack  of  Diamonds  united  in  call- 
ing me  a  fool. 

Another  night  I  supplemented  the  mathematical 
calculation  with  a  practical  meditation  on  the  psy- 
chological line.    I  observed  that  the  habit  of  card- 


138  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

playing  was  wearing  a  rut  in  my  brain.  Jacks, 
kings,  queens,  aces,  right  bowers,  trumps  were 
nesting  in  my  mind;  and  just  as  cuclioos  occupy  the 
habitats  of  better  birds,  and  either  rot  their  eggs  or 
throw  out  the  young  hatchlings,  so  these  intruders 
were  despoiling  me  of  more  profitable  thoughts; — 
indeed,  of  the  ability  to  think  profitably  on  any 
subject. 

1  cannot  say  that  at  the  time  I  was  influenced  by 
any  higher  considerations  than  those  of  our  expedi- 
ency philosophers,  but  I  determined  to  break  with 
the  card  habit.  Most  of  my  comrades  agreed  with 
me  in  the  philosophy,  and  some  in  x^ractice.  Our 
sessions  were  adjourned  sine  node. 

One  of  our  number  objected  to  the  "  moral  non- 
sense," the  "  petty  pietism,"  the  "  sour  puritanism  " 
of  our  revolt.  I  may  tell  of  the  after  experience  of 
a  couple  of  them. 

Bob was  a  fellow  of  rare  brilliancy.    He 

could  loaf  most  of  the  term  time,  and  with  hasty 
"  ])oling  "  a  week  before  examination  top  us  all  on 
the  grade  list.  But  the  gambling  habit  preyed  upon 
him,  and  ultimately  induced  an  insane  passion  for 
it.  Dissipation  followed.  Ten  years  later  he  shot 
a  man  over  the  table. 

Another  student  has  since  told  me  a  very  different 
experience.  I'll  call  him  Tom,  lest  some  of  his 
grandchildren  resent  my  tale-bearing  about  their 
revered  ancestor.  One  night  a  glimmer  at  his  win- 
dow caught  the  eye  of  our  Prex,  whose  love  for  the 
boys  made  him  very  alert  in  watching  for  any  signs 


COLLEGE  DAYS  1^9 

of  tlieir  illness  or  over-weariness  in  study ;  let  us  not 
say  that  such  symptoms  were  the  only  ones  he 
searched  for,  since  occasional  "  rustication  "  made 
us  suspicious  that  he  had  other  interest  in  us.  He 
knocked  at  Tom's  door.  After  a  little  delay  the 
lazy  string  drew  the  latch. 

"  Come  in !  "  sounded  a  sleepy  voice.  Tom  was 
studying  his  big  Greek  lexicon. 

"  Too  bad !  Too  bad !  "  said  Prex.  "  I  must  really 

speak  to  Professor about  the  long  lessons  he 

is  giving.    It  is  a  shame." 

Saying  which  he  closed  the  lexicon,  revealing  the 
cards  beneath.    He  then  opened  the  closet  door. 

"  Ah,  you  have  a  visitor ! "  gently  pulling  out  a 
concealed  comrade.  "Well!  Well!  Please  put 
each  other  to  bed.  Good-night,  gentlemen !  Good- 
night!" 

Tom  expected  discipline.  Day  after  day  it  was 
delayed.  It  never  came  in  any  outward  form ;  but 
Tom  declared  to  me  in  after  life  that  no  "  suspended 
sentence  "  ever  cut  the  heart  out  of  a  criminal  as 
that  did.  The  shame  of  his  deceit  was  like  a  rusty 
nail  in  his  very  soul.  He  couldn't  endure  the  ex- 
ceeding affability  of  Prex  as  they  met  afterward. 
One  day  be  entered  the  sanctum  of  the  president, 
and  threw  himself  on  his  mercy. 

"  It's  all  right,  Thomas,"  was  the  response.  "  I 
knew  your  father,  and  was  sure  that  a  man  of  that 
stock  had  only  to  be  made  to  think  in  order  to 
straighten  himself  out.  Follow  the  lesson  you  have 
taught  yourself,  my  boy,  and  God  bless  you!  " 


140  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

Years  after,  wlieii  Prex  died,  Tom — then  a  noted 
clergyman — went  back  to  the  college,  sat  in  his  old 
seat  in  the  chapel  during  the  funeral,  and  cried  like 
a  child. 

Old-time  Prex. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Prex.  I  have  occasion  for 
thinking  of  him  very  gratefully  which  I  will  not  put 
down  here,  for  this  is  not  a  book  of  confessions. 
Many  people  thought  of  him  as  only  an  ordinary 
man,  and  wondered  how  he  kept  his  position  so  long 
at  the  head  of  a  distinguished  faculty.  He  was  not 
a  man  of  genius,  unless  the  ability  to  fathom  the 
souls  of  young  men  and  to  love  them  sacrificially  be 
genius.  He  left  nothing  in  print  that  added  to  the 
lustre  of  the  institution.  He  was  called  common- 
place; but  the  commonplace  in  him  ran  in  deep 
channels,  and  full-flooded  a  life  of  great  useful- 
ness. 

To  this  I  can  testify  "  by  the  book."  After  his 
death,  in  order  to  prepare  a  memorial  address,  I 
was  permitted  to  sift  a  few  bushels  of  miscellane- 
ous papers  which  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
throwing  into  bureau  drawers.  Many  of  these 
were  yellowed  with  years  and  dust-covered,  show- 
ing that  the  modest  man  had  never  even  gratified 
his  reminiscent  old  age  by  looking  at  them.  Among 
these  papers  I  found  enough  to  make  the  reputation 
of  a  half  dozen  philanthropists  and  administrators 
of  great  affairs. 

This  was  before  the  days  of  our  great  university 


COLLEGE  DAYS  141 

endowments.  It  was  not  yet  the  fashion  for  rich 
men  to  memorialize  themselves  on  the  college 
campus  with  dormitories,  chapels  and  gymnasimns. 
Those  were  the  "days  of  small  things."  College 
funds  were  scraped  from  the  bottom  of  the  treasury, 
or  picked  off  the  salaries  of  the  professors.  But  our 
commonplace  Prex  managed  it  in  some  way  so  that 
no  deserving  student  ever  left  college  for  lack  of 
tuition  or  board  money.  There  was  presumed  to  be 
an  Association  for  the  Aid  of  Indigent  Students; 
but  since  Prex's  death  it  has  been  discovered  that 
he  himself  was  not  only  the  i)resident  of  the  Asso- 
ciation, but  almost  the  only  donor  to  its  funds. 

The  college  buildings  were  out  of  repair;  the 
library  and  laboratories  antiquated;  the  professors 
threadbare.  Prex  took  a  vacation,  roamed  over  the 
country,  and  returned  with  nearly  a  half-million 
dollars;  and  that  at  a  time  when  a  dollar  meant 
more  to  the  donor  than  four  times  the  amount  to- 
day. The  old  buildings  were  straightened  to  the 
plumb ;  and  the  backs  of  the  old  professors  also  with 
the  renewed  spirit  that  came  to  them ;  while  some  of 
the  foremost  scientists  and  educators  of  the  world 
were  added  to  the  faculty. 

A  somewhat  extended  observation  of  men  and 
movements  has  convinced  me  that  the  real  leaders 
of  their  times  have  not  been  those  who  have  gath- 
ered most  4clat.  I  am  reminded  of  a  saying  of 
Henry  J.  Eaymond,  who  during  the  Civil  War, 
when  the  country  was  getting  tired  of  Young  Napo- 
leons and  high-feathered  chieftains,  asked  for  the. 


142  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

promotion  of  "  first-rate  second-class  men,"  men 
who  simply  did  things,  and  were  too  busy  in  doing 
them  to  spare  time  thinking  about  their  reputations. 

After  the  battle  of  Santiago  a  public  reception 
was  given  by  his  home  neighbors  to  the  commander 
of  the  victorious  fleet.  In  replying  to  my  compli- 
mentary address  the  Admiral  pointed  to  a  man  in 
the  hall,  who  was  unknown  to  most  of  us,  although 
he  resided  in  our  community,  and  said :  "  Without 
that  man  there  would  have  been  no  victory.  He 
provided  the  armament,  ammunition,  coal  and 
everything  pertaining  to  the  fleet.  We  captains 
walk  the  decks  and  give  orders,  but  we  couldn't  fire 
a  shot  but  for  the  ability  and  fidelity  of  men  you 
never  hear  of." 

The  remark  reminds  me  of  a  distinguished  scien- 
tist who  had  made  a  discovery  leading  to  one  of  the 
epoch-making  inventions  of  modern  times  which 
was  christened  with  his  name.  In  telling  how  it  all 
came  about  the  sage  said :  "  I  don't  want  you  to  for- 
get my  collaborators.  They  did  more  than  I.  They 
verified  my  facts,  tested  out  my  theories,  encour- 
aged me  by  a  hundred  helps,  else  the  thing  had  not 
succeeded." 

College  Training, 

My  college  course  was  very  profitable  in  some 
respects.  It  certainly  taught  me  to  measurably 
command  and  utilize  such  faculties  as  I  had,  how- 
ever meagerly  I  may  have  been  supplied  with  those 
of  any  high  order.    From  observation  of  later  uni- 


COLLEGE  DAYS  143 

versity  methods  I  doubt  if  they  are  an  improvement 
ujjon  those  of  a  generation  ago  in  real  mental 
training.  The  studies  now  ijrescribed  are  more  ex- 
tensive, but  the  studying  may  be  less  intensive. 
The  older  processes  doubtless  failed  in  the  matter 
of  breadth.  Latin,  Greek,  Mathematics  and  Meta- 
physics did  not  give  enough  information  to  create 
inspiration  for  general  study.  Many  fellows  who 
might  have  been  tempted  by  interesting  fields  of  in- 
quiry to  devote  themselves  to  some  pursuit  credit- 
able to  an  educated  man,  became  listless  over  the 
daily  grind,  and  left  college  without  having  discov- 
ered their  own  higher  tastes  and  talents,  and 
dropped  into  some  ancestral  or  convenient  business. 

In  language  we  had  drill,  drill,  drill,  but  nothing 
about  the  science  of  language.  If  only  our  Greek 
professor  had  given  us  something  like  Max  Miiller's 
"  Chips  from  a  German  Workshop  "  instead  of  cross- 
tabulations  of  synonyms !  If  he  had  only  told  us  of 
the  classic  beauties  that  we  were  skimming  over, 
as  on  some  glorious  stream  between  mountain  head- 
lands, and  allowed  us  to  lift  our  eyes  from  our  pad- 
dle-blades! If  he  had  given  us  the  rhythm  of  the 
music,  and  not  kept  us  on  the  treadmill  of  mere 
technique,  we  might  have  felt  a  charm  that  would 
have  lasted  a  lifetime. 

While  in  college  I  learned  the  rules  of  rhetoric, 
but  I  was  not  made  acquainted  with  a  single  passage 
of  literature  through  the  analysis  or  commendation 
of  it  by  the  professor.  When  I  had  passed  my  for- 
tieth year  I  turned  out  some  books  which  the  favor- 


144  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

itism  of  friends  and  the  business  capacity  of  pub- 
lishers made  moderately  popular;  but  for  fifteen 
years  after  leaving  college  I  had  no  dream  that  I 
possessed  either  taste  or  ability  for  authorship.  My 
college  curriculum  did  not  help  me  find  myself. 

In  saying  this  I  am  not  criticizing  my  own  Alma 
Mater  particularly,  for  it  was  one  of  the  best  in  the 
laud.  What  would  I  not  have  given  for  a  professor, 
say  in  Greek,  like  one  of  my  college  mates  who  after- 
ward attained  that  chair?  The  professor  entered 
the  class-room  one  hot  day  in  June.  Mopping  his 
face  with  his  handkerchief,  he  said  to  his  students : 

"  Gentlemen,  isn't  it  too  hot  for  a  recitation  in 
this  stuffy  room?  What  would  you  say  to  an  excur- 
sion to  the  Hill,  where  we  might  pursue  the  real  old 
peripatetic  method  of  study?  " 

Of  course,  the  suggestion  met  with  a  wild  out- 
burst of  applause  that  made  the  room  more  stuffy 
with  a  cloud  of  floor-dust.  The  fellows  literally 
rose  to  the  occasion.  The  professor,  quietly  looking 
over  his  class  roll,  said : 

"  Please  be  seated,  gentlemen !  Mr.  Jones,  you 
will  be  kind  enough  to  i)ut  my  remark  about  the  ex- 
cursion into  Greek." 

On  another  occasion  the  professor  excited  quite 
an  enthusiastic  debate  over  the  question  whether  a 
certain  doctrine  could  be  attributed  to  Plato, — the 
decision  depending  upon  carefully  assaying  the 
very  words  of  the  ancient  philosopher.  That  style 
of  teaching  went  far  toward  resurrecting  the  dead 
into  a  living  language,  and  at  the  same  time  it 


COLLEGE  DAYS  145 

quickened  the  brains  of  those  who  had  previously 
thought  they  had  no  aptitude  for  the  Greek  lan- 
guage. 

The  man  who  most  helped  me  in  those  college 
days  was  not  a  professor,  only  a  class  pal,  although 
he  in  later  years  became  celebrated  as  one  of  the 
foremost  instructors  in  our  land  and  across  the 
seas.  Not  far  from  our  campus  was  a  canal.  My 
comrade  and  I  were  accustomed  to  saunter  down  to 
it  after  breakfast,  beg  a  ride  from  the  first  captain 
who  passed,  spend  an  hour  going  in  one  direction, 
catch  a  returning  craft,  and  get  back  in  time  for  the 
class-room  exercise.  I  recall  those  canal-boat  con- 
versations on  the  subjects  of  our  lessons  and  lec- 
tures with  one  near  my  own  age,  full  of  enthusiasm, 
and  withal  possessing  a  genius  for  those  very  mat- 
ters in  which  within  five  years  he  was  to  instruct 
his  instructors.  The  deck  of  the  Mary  Ann  or  Jane 
Smith  was  as  high  a  seat  of  learning  as  I  have  ever 
looked  up  to. 

One  hears  much  of  the  unloveliness  of  the  college 
"  grind."  For  all  his  laboriousness  he  is  a  snail  in 
his  shell,  working  only  to  build  out  the  lobes  and 
convolutions  of  his  own  brain.  He  weaves  no  genial 
fellowships  with  his  comrades,  and  as  no  single 
thread,  however  strong  and  fair,  can  compare  with 
the  beauty  of  the  tapestry  of  which  it  ought  to  be  a 
part,  he  is  ordinarily  dropped  into  the  social  scrap- 
bag.  Unless  possessed  of  unusual  genius,  and  so 
able  to  burrow  down  deep  into  the  mysteries  of 
Bome  specialty  and  come  up  again  with  the  precious 


146  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAT 

dust  of  his  findings  on  Lis  head,  he  simply  buries 
himself  beneath  it  and  is  not  heard  from  in  after 
life.  The  "  bookworm,"  like  his  prototype  from 
which  the  sobriquet  is  derived,  is  generally  to  be 
found  hiding  away  in  some  literary  crack  pretty 
well  to  the  back  of  things. 

There  were  several  such  prodigious  delvers  in  my 
class.  By  sheer  toil  and  tallow  they  crept  far  up 
the  grade  roll.  What  has  become  of  them  can  be 
told  only  by  the  class  secretary,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  keep  a  record  of  the  business  and  babies  of  the 
rest  of  us. 

The  greatest  study  in  this  world  for  an  educated 
man  is  men,  not  dead  "  have  beens ''  nor  theoretic 
"  ought-to-be's,-'  but  those  who  live  about  us,  who 
helj)  make  us,  and  whom  we  are  to  help  make.  Soci- 
ety is  like  a  tree  of  which  i^ersonalities  are  the 
branches  and  twigs.  We  live  from  one  another.  If 
one  would  detach  himself  and  become  an  air-plant, 
however  etherial  his  j)urpose,  he  will  x>i*obably  do 
nothing  but  fall. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  study  of  my  class  roll  shows 
that  only  those  who  applied  themselves  to  study 
with  measurable  assiduitj^  were  afterward  success- 
ful. The  most  gifted  man  in  the  class  was  one  who 
dissipated  in  brain  work,  if  not  in  bodily  passion. 
Our  professor  of  rhetoric  on  reading  one  of  his  es- 
says wrote  across  it  the  sad  warning, — "  The  writer 
of  this  has  too  much  ability  to  waste," — words 
which  were  prophetic  of  the  man's  after  career.  It 
is  not  that  so  much  time  is  wasted  in  college,  but 


COLLEGE  DAYS  147 

that  at  this  formative  period  the  habit  of  intellec- 
tual coucentration  is  not  established.  The  will  is 
just  as  much  of  a  factor  in  professional  as  in  busi- 
ness success.  No  shapeliness  of  the  boat  will  win 
the  race  without  the  trained  eye  and  hardened  hand 
upon  the  helm.  I  do  not  recall  a  classmate  who 
afterward  reached  distinction  who  was  not  well 
within  the  first  quarter  of  the  roll  for  scholarship. 

Possibly  my  class  list  is  unfortunate  as  a  test  of 
this  matter.  The  Civil  War  disrupted  us  before 
graduation.  Many  of  the  finest  fellows  fell  in  the 
Confederate  or  Federal  service.  It  was  a  sad  day, 
that  after  the  attack  upon  Fort  Sumter,  when  we 
Northern  boys  gave  the  last  hand-grasp  to  nearly 
half  the  class  as  they  clambered  into  the  train  for 
Dixie.  A  few  of  us  met  again,  sometimes  in  the 
aftermath  of  the  battle-field.  But  our  class  re- 
unions have  been  sadly  small  in  attendance. 

Personally  I  think  that  I  maintained  my  reputa- 
tion as  an  ordinary  man  by  wasting  my  time  neither 
in  grinding  for  honors  nor  in  lazy  indulgence.  I 
know  that  my  recitations  and  conduct  sometimes 
bewildered  my  professors  when  making  up  their 
grade  lists.  Some  years  after  graduation  I  became 
somewhat  intimate  with  one  of  them.    One  day  he 

remarked :  " ,  I  have  often  thought  that  I  did 

not  grade  you  right  when  you  were  under  me."  I 
replied,  "  Professor,  I  accept  your  apology."  He 
quickly  responded,  "  Hold  on,  my  boy,  I  am  not 
apologizing.  I  am  only  berating  myself  for  having 
allowed  myself  to  be  taken  in  by  you." 


148  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

Our  professor  in  rhetoric  inspired  me  to  do  my 
level  best  in  preimring  a  certain  essay.  My  last 
record  with,  him  had  put  me  not  far  from  the  head 
of  the  class.  So  I  grew  quite  chesty  when  he  re- 
marked of  my  new  attempt,  "  This  will  materially 
raise  your  grade."  But  unfortunately  for  the  col- 
lege, and  especially  for  myself,  the  good  man  died 
before  he  had  made  up  the  grades  for  the  term.  The 
essay  on  which  my  i)ride  had  poised  itself  so  com- 
placently was  reviewed  by  another  professor,  who 
quietly  dropped  it  into  the  refuse  heap  with  the 
scribblings  of  the  fag-end  of  the  class.  Wliich  of  the 
two  experts  was  wiser  in  his  judgment  I  don't  care 
to  decide.  I  certainly  learned  the  valuable  lesson 
not  to  rest  one's  equanimity  and  peace  of  mind 
upon  others'  opinion  of  your  work  or  character.  Do 
the  best  you  can,  and  keep  away  from  the  bulletin- 
board. 

An  Amateur  Tramp. 

Among  my  classmates  was  one  whom  we  called 
L'Allegro,  for  he  always  brought  with  him 

''Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. ' ' 

I  can  recall  no  single  expression  or  action  of 
Ned's  that  showed  great  seriousness;  yet  I  sus- 
pected that  he  was  a  man  of  real  and  perhaps 
over-deep  convictions.  Like  a  full-headed  spring 
his  surface  bubbles  came  from  the  bottom.  At 
times,  in  the  interludes  of  our  mutual  banter,  I 
Tvould  detect  a  change  of  his  appearance  that  start- 


COLLEGE  DAYS  149 

led  me.  His  smile  would  die  down  too  far,  and  be 
lost  in  a  look  of  pain,  almost  of  fright.  But  the 
tragic  mask  was  replaced  by  the  comic  at  the 
slightest  possibility  of  a  pun,  a  joke  or  a  tickling 
match  with  any  of  us.  I  imagined  that  his  chronic 
feeling  when  alone  might  be  that  of  some  horrid 
nightmare  from  which  he  sought  to  shake  himself 
awake. 

One  day  he  gave  us  a  burlesque  oration  against 
all  civilization,  mimicking  the  manner  and  tones  of 
one  of  our  professors.  He  compared  society  to  a 
pachyderm's  skin  or  a  mollusc's  shell  that  stifled 
the  best  that  was  in  human  nature.  He  glorified  the 
life  of  the  tramp. 

When  I  objected  to  this  view  of  life  I^ed  chal- 
lenged me  to  a  practical  trial  whether  it  were  not 
the  happiest  lot  of  man.  I  accepted  his  "  dare,"  and 
at  the  beginning  of  our  vacation  started  off  with 
him  for  a  month  of  aimless  delights.  We  took  in 
our  pockets  only  enough  money  to  prevent  actual 
starvation,  or  to  pay  passage  home  in  case  of  acci- 
dent, or  if,  unlike  the  Israelites  in  the  desert,  our 
feet  might  swell  and  prevent  our  tramping. 

We  journeyed  one  day  merrily,  sustained  by  the 
double  breakfast  we  had  eaten  in  view  of  unforeseen 
possibilities.  By  the  afternoon  we  were  conscious 
of  the  need  of  something  beside  tightening  our  belts 
and  taking  a  deeper  breath  of  resolution.  We  en- 
couraged each  other  to  resist  the  temptation  excited 
by  feeling  the  loose  change  in  our  pockets,  but  not 
having  as  yet  cultivated  enough  cheek  to  be  actual 


150  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

beggars  we  deterniiiied  to  go  siipjierless.  We  se- 
lected for  our  lodging  a  clump  of  trees  on  the  bank 
of  a  i^retty  stream. 

"  Here  we  can  be  as  happy  as  the  birds/-  said 
Ned. 

"  If  only  like  them  we  could  fill  our  crops  with 
seeds  and  worms,"  I  i^essimistically  added. 

Ned  danced  a  jig,  and  sang  the  chorus  of  an  old 
song : 

"We'll  be  gay  and  happy  still." 

"  That  will  do  instead  of  saying  grace,  since  we 
have  nothing  to  eat,"  added  the  irrepressible  fellow. 
"  Who  was  it  that  said  of  Ben  Franklin  famishing 
on  the  streets  of  Philadelphia, '  He  starveth  his  flesh 
that  his  soul  might  regale  itself  on  divine  pliilos- 
ophy'?  We'll  see  before  morning  if  *  divine  phi- 
losophy '  is  not  chiefly  due  to  yeast." 

We  were  looking  round  for  a  place  to  make  our 
burrows  for  the  night,  like  the  rabbits,  when  our 
quiet  was  broken  into  by  a  group  of  young  people 
from  a  neighboring  village  who  had  chosen  that 
spot  for  a  sunset  picnic.  They  at  first  showed  an 
intention  to  dispossess  us  of  our  lodgings.  But 
Ned's  courtesy  and  mirth  shone  through  his  dis- 
reputable appearance  like  a  diamond  in  the  dust.  I 
believe  he  could  have  walked  past  a  eunuch  into  a 
sultan's  harem  with  that  graciousness  of  manner. 
His  inimitable  drollery  set  the  party  of  newcomers 
into  such  good  humor  that  the  young  ladies  insisted 
upon  our  joining  them.     So  our  first  day's  experi- 


COLLEGE  DAYS  151 

ence  of  the  hard  lot  of  the  socially  ostracized  class 
ended  in  a  feast  of  boned  turkey,  sandwiches,  hai'd- 
hoiled  eggs,  lemon  pie,  cake  and  ice-cream,  instead 
of  the  ''  bitter  herbs  "  of  discontent. 

An  old  proverb  says  that  "  the  gods  take  care  of 
babes,  beggars  and  imbeciles."  "  How  much  wis- 
dom there  is  in  that !  "  remarked  my  comrade  a 
couple  of  hours  later,  as  staring  at  the  stars  until 
his  eyes  blinked  he  pulled  his  slouched  hat  over  his 
face  and  Avitli  a  kick  bade  me  good-night. 

Our  second  day  was  equally  illuminating  as  to 
the  griefs  of  the  disgruntled  trampers  on  the  Broad 
Highway.  I  tried  to  induce  a  canal-boat  captain 
to  give  us  a  lift.  He  suggested  our  driving  the  mule 
on  the  tow-path  as  better  fitting  our  condition. 
But  Ned  so  jollied  the  man  that  his  wife — ^who 
sailed  with  him  a  la  Cleopatra  with  Antony — ap- 
peared at  the  cabin  door ;  a  good-looking,  motherly 
sort  of  woman,  who  had  accompanied  her  husband, 
if  not  to  save  him  from  any  perils  of  the  journey,  at 
least  to  guard  him  from  worse  dangers  of  the  i^ort 
whither  he  was  going.  Whether  her  face  was  crack- 
ing at  Ned's  tomfoolery  or  her  heart  was  breaking 
at  us  two  unfortunate  and  homeless  lads,  I  do  not 
know;  but  she  made  us  share  the  bacon  and  corn- 
bread,  the  odors  of  which  jDOured  u^)  by  the  side  of 
the  bit  of  stovepipe  that  jirotruded  above  the  cabin, 
as  agreeable  to  our  nostrils  as  the  perfumes  of 
Araby  the  Blest  which  are  wafted  to  sailors  along 
that  coast. 

Our  new  friends  entertained  us  as  humanely  as 


152  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

if  they  had  i^icked  us  from  a  derelict  in  the  North 
Sea.  We  slejjt  our  second  night  out  under  an  oil- 
cloth that  was  used  to  batten  the  hatchway,  each  of 
us  with  a  bag  of  oats  for  a  pillow.  It  is  wonderful 
how  one  can  become  reconciled  to  adversity  if  he 
will  only  yield  gracefully  to  the  necessities  of  the 
situation,  as  a  dog  relaxes  all  his  muscles  to  let 
them  sink  into  the  unevennesscs  of  what  he  may  be 
lying  on.  If  we  cannot  j)ad  the  world  we  can  pad 
ourselves. 

I  had  scarcely  covered  my  head  with  the  oilcloth 
when  I  was  charmed  by  the  music  of  Ned's  "  We'll 
be  gay  and  happy  still,"  ending  with  a  snore  that 
signalled  his  entrance  into  the  Land  of  Nod,  as  in 
olden  times  a  stranger  approaching  another's 
demesne  was  expected  to  sound  a  trumpet.  Next 
morning  nothing  but  our  mutual  vow  of  a  month's 
poverty  prevented  our  accepting  the  invitation  of 
our  host  and  hostess  to  voyage  with  them  a  hundred 
miles  to  their  destination.  Fattened  with  an  oat- 
meal, buckwheat  cake  and  coffee  breakfast,  and 
with  pockets  stuffed  with  sandwiches,  which  the 
thoughtful  "  mate  "  had  provided  for  our  lunch,  we 
resumed  our  pilgrimage.  We  did  not  envy  an  un- 
washed monk  in  his  refectorv,  though  Ned  declared 
his  purpose  to  take  orders  in  the  cowled  fraternity, 
if  he  could  find  one  with  sufficiently  peregrinate 
rules  and  regulations. 

The  third  night  we  attempted  to  lodge  under  a 
haycock  adjacent  to  a  country  mansion.  The  gar- 
dener was  a  stupid  fellow  who  could  not  appreciate 


COLLEGE  DAYS  153 

Ned's  banter,  and  ordered  us  off  the  place.  Our 
chatter  brought  the  owner — a  gentleman  whom  I 
often  met  in  after  years  in  his  own  city  drawing- 
room.  At  first  he  was  inclined  to  side  with  his  man, 
but  after  a  few  moments'  talk  with  us  he  melted.  I 
heard  him  say  to  his  factotum,  "  Job,  these  fellows 
are  not  hoboes.  Let  them  sleep  in  the  carriage 
house.    I'll  risk  their  doing  any  harm." 

The  next  morning  Job  started  us  out  by  introduc- 
ing us  to  the  cook,  who  gave  us  a  fine  breakfast  in 
the  kitchen,  which  she  supplemented  Avith  a  pack- 
age marked  "  Luncli,"  and  a  message  from  the  pro* 
prietor  asking  to  be  remembered  to  our  respective 
fathers,  whoever  they  might  be.  Ten  years  after- 
ward I  reminded  this  gentleman  of  the  incident. 
He  replied,  "  I  recall  it  well.  You  boys  hadn't  been 
long  enough  on  your  escapade  to  acquire  the  man- 
ners of  the  road.  I  knew  from  your  talk  that  you 
were  college  fellows.  By  the  way,  what  has  become 
of  your  pal?  His  bright  face  has  haunted  me  often 
since.  I  wanted  to  bring  you  both  into  the  house, 
but  my  wife  wouldn't  let  me.  She  was  afraid  of 
Confederate  spies,  though  we  were  nearer  the  Can- 
ada border  than  Mason  and  Dixon's  Line." 

The  fourth  night  we  slept  in  a  sawmill.  It  was  on 
the  edge  of  a  town  where  I  had  once  been  at  school. 
I  must,  of  course,  see  the  familiar  grounds  again. 
While  wandering  about  who  should  meet  us  but 
the  principal.  He  recognized  me  at  once.  With  a 
look  of  profoundest  pity  he  put  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 


154:  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY^ 

"Why!  Why,  what  has  brought  you  to  this 
condition?  "    I  told  our  story. 

"  Well !  Well !  W^ell !  But  you  know  I  always 
punished  boj^s  for  deceit.  You  must  take  your  dis- 
cipline." 

Said  discipline  was  administered  by  himself,  his 
wife  and  daughter  at  a  lunch  table  in  their  private 
apartment ; — a  j^lace  which  I  had  never  been  invited 
to  enter  during  my  school-days. 

What  a  difference  between  my  rigid  old  martinet 
preceptor  and  the  same  man  now  that  I  met  him 
socially  rather  than  pedagogically !  As  we  went 
away  Ned  philosophized  on  the  hardening  influence 
of  authority.  A  man  might  have  a  natural  disposi- 
tion as  soft  as  the  inside  of  a  crab,  but  the  habit  of 
bossing  boys  would  grow  a  shell  about  it.  He  would 
never  be  a  school-teacher.  He'd  be  a  hangman  first ; 
for  that  individual  has  a  chance  to  jolly  up  the  vic- 
tims before  he  executes  them,  which  a  disciplinarian 
never  does. 

Next  night  we  slept  in  an  open  field,  under  the 
big  comet  of  1861  which  spanned  from  horizon  to 
zenith. 

"  Star-dust  on  the  outside  of  your  stomach  in- 
stead of  powdered  sugar  icing  on  the  inside !  How 
do  you  like  it?  "  Before  I  could  reply  Ned  was 
asleep. 

Next  day  we  struck  Lake  George.  That  Paradise 
halted  our  wayward  feet.  We  invested  the  bulk  of 
our  reserve  treasury  in  hiring  a  canoe,  and  stocking 
it  with  boiled  ham,  several  loaves  of  bread  and  some 


COLLEGE  DAYS  155 

fishing  tackle.  The  farmer  of  whom  we  bought 
these  articles  might  have  driven  a  hard  bargain 
with  us,  but  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  his  two 
buxom  daughters  threw  in  the  loaves  gratuitously, 
and  his  wife  added  a  handleless  frying  pan,  while 
the  whole  family  waved  us  hon  voyage  from  the 
bank  as  we  paddled  away. 

I  have  often  since  visited  the  Lake ;  have  put  up 
in  its  palatial  hotels ;  have  cut  its  opalescent  surface 
with  the  prow  of  a  motor-boat;  but  I  have  never 
again  found  such  wealth  of  enjoyment  as  we  then 
drew  down  from  its  skies  and  fished  up  from  its 
waters.  For  several  weeks  we  slept  on  the  ground 
with  the  overturned  canoe  for  our  roof,  lulled  by 
the  squealing  of  hedgehogs  and  the  cry  of  loons, 

**Till  o'er  our  brows  death-counterfeiting  sleep 
With  leaden  legs  and  batty  wings  did  creep. ' ' 

Showers  often  drenched  us  to  the  skin,  but  Ned's 
mirth  warmed  the  cockles  of  our  hearts.  "  We'll  be 
gay  and  happy  still  "  answered  the  swish  of  the  rain 
and  the  tossing  of  the  waves. 

We  one  day  had  a  narrow  escape.  An  elegant 
canoe  approached  ours.  In  it  were  two  young 
ladies.  My  advice  was  to  flee,  for  after  several 
weeks  of  roughing  it — and  tearing  it — our  un- 
changed clothes  had  become  quite  as  disreputable  as 
our  unshaven  chins.  But  Ned  was  game  for  a  new 
adventure,  and  steered  alongside.  The  ladies 
proved  to  be  old  acquaintances  in  the  city.     They 


156  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

were  spending  tlie  summer  in  an  elegant  family- 
villa  on  the  lakeside. 

We  were  safe  while  sitting  down  in  the  canoe.  To 
have  risen  might  have  topjiled  us  over;  but,  more 
disastrously  than  that,  it  would  have  revealed  an 
indescribable  condition  of  our  apparel  which  would 
have  outlawed  Saint  Francis.  Ned  came  near  lying 
when  he  said  that  we  were  putting  up  at  a  fisher- 
man's lodge  down  the  Lake.  The  ladies  invited  us 
to  dine  with  them  that  evening.  Several  friends  of 
a  rather  fashionable  set  were  also  to  be  guests.  A 
little  dance  after  dinner  and  a  paddle  to  our  camp 
in  the  late  moonlight !  Good  heavens,  to  our  camp ! 
Notwithstanding  my  agonizing  facial  protest  Ned 
accepted  the  invitation.  He  was  simply  intoxicated 
with  the  ridiculousness  of  the  affair;  and  could  no 
more  restrain  his  anticipation  of  the  fun  than  he 
could  help  upsetting  the  canoe  in  the  first  shallow 
water,  that  our  apparel  might  at  least  have  a  laun- 
dering before  exhibiting  it. 

On  taking  account  of  our  wardrobe  even  Ned  was 
sobered.  His  shoes  were  busted.  My  trousers  were 
entirely  out  at  one  knee.  His  were  in  worse  plight, 
nearly  torn  in  twain,  his  shirt  making  a  signal  of 
distress  as  it  protruded  at  half-mast  from  his  rear. 

We  had  no  means  of  sending  a  recall  of  our  ac- 
ceptance of  the  dinner  invitation  except  a  scrawl  on 
a  soiled  bit  of  paper  which  we  coaxed  a  fisherman  to 
leave  at  the  villa,  and  which  stated  that  we  had 
been  suddenly  called  away, — which  was  true 
enough ;  for  the  call  was  from  our  sense  of  propri- 


COLLEGE  DAYS  157 

ety  which  suggested  that  we  should  propel  our 
''  camp  "  several  miles  further  down  the  Lake,  and 
keep  a  sharp  outlook  for  the  apjjroach  of  swan-like 
maidens.  After  that  we  kept  to  the  natives.  One 
of  these  was  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  that  region,  a 
man  whose  memory  went  back  to  the  days  when 
Indian  canoes  specked  the  Horicon,  bears  were  the 
scavengers  at  kitchen  doors,  and  wolves  the  guard- 
ians of  the  hen-roosts.  Our  new  friend  was  by  pro- 
fession a  bee-hunter.  With  him  we  climbed  the 
mountains,  followed  the  swarming  hosts,  looted 
their  honey  camps.  The  old  man  diagrammed  for 
us  the  bays;  and  at  the  spot  where  an  imaginary 
line  between  a  gray  rock  on  one  shore  and  a  pine 
tree  on  the  other  crossed  the  imaginary  line  between 
a  dark  spot  on  the  hillside  and  a  tiny  islet  just  peep- 
ing out  of  the  water,  we  caught  the  biggest  bass,  the 
mere  telling  of  which  would  swamp  my  reputation 
for  veracity.  We  swapped  our  catch  for  the  hog, 
hominy  and  honey  of  our  patron,  and  thus  commer- 
cialized our  friendship  to  mutual  profit. 

We  spent  a  few  days  in  the  neighborhood  of  Fort 
Ticonderoga,  and  perhaps  excited  the  suspicions  of 
the  natives  that  the  ghosts  of  English,  French  or 
Indian  spies  were  revisiting  the  scenes  of  their  ad- 
ventures in  the  flesh.  Ned's  incessant  "We'll  be 
gay  and  happy  still  "  echoed  among  the  ruins.  His 
hilarity  was  both  sunshine  and  bird-song. 

Yet  all  through  these  years  since,  the  remem- 
brance of  my  old  comrade  has  given  me  the  most 
intense  feeling  of  loneliness.    It  makes  the  mystery 


158  ALONG  THE  FPJENDLY  WAY 

of  life  wrap  me  as  in  a  dense  fog  saturating  me  to 
the  heart's  core.  Although  I  had  lodged  almost 
under  his  own  skin,  I  never  really  knew  him.  Did 
he  know  himself?  Or  did  he  know  himself  too  well? 
Now  and  then  as  I  Avatched  him  at  the  oars  his  face 
w^ould  become  tragic.  Were  there  beneath  the  glim- 
mering surface  of  his  soul  murky  depths  where 
devil-fish  made  their  habitat  and  tore  him? 

A  few  years  later  Ned  committed  suicide! 

But  that  attemj^t  for  home-bred  and  home-return- 
ing boys  to  understand  the  life,  especially  the  real 
inner  life,  of  the  social  waif,  the  industrial  outcast, 
the  roofless  man  anywhere !  Our  temporary  hard- 
ship, with  an  occasional  wet  skin  or  empty  stomach, 
only  added  sauce  to  the  apjjetite  for  more  of  the 
same  sort.  The  fact  that,  though  we  were  scant  of 
ready  silver,  we  yet  had  indulgent  fathers  who 
w^ould  at  any  moment  of  real  exigency  send  bank- 
drafts,  prevented  our  acquiring  the  least  conception 
of  the  lot  of  the  real  tramp  or  unfortunate,  his  hope- 
lessness of  ever  bettering  his  condition,  and  the 
slough  of  bestiality  in  which  he  generally  flounders. 

From  that  simimer's  experience  I  have  never 
taken  the  least  stock  in  the  reports  of  the  well-to-do 
who  have  gone  slumming  or  nomading  in  order  to 
find  out  how  the  "  other  half  "  live.  The  difference 
is  that  between  penury  and  a  picnic.  To  know  what 
a  social  derelict  is  one  must  be  one. 

Let  me  foil  this  story  of  Ned  with  one  of  a  di- 
rectly opposite  drift  and  significance. 

During  the  decade  between  '50  and  'GO  the  coun- 


COLLEGE  DAYS  159 

try  was  showered  upon  by  multitudes  of  fake  Ger- 
man students.  The  unsuccessful  attempts  at  revo- 
lution in  the  Vaterland  had  led  many  patriots  to 
migrate.  Against  these  the  various  little  tyrannies 
into  which  Germany  was  then  divided  had  been  atro- 
ciously severe.  Many  of  these  men  fled  across  seas, 
and  became  our  best  citizens.  Their  kindly  recep- 
tion here  started  swarms  of  impostors.  A  "  poor 
German  student "  became  the  signal  of  wariness 
about  our  college  towns. 

A  college  mate  and  I  came  upon  one  such  derelict. 
He  was  choring  in  a  barber  shop.  Hearing  us  talk 
of  our  university  the  man  introduced  himself  as  one 
of  the  guild.  I  said  to  my  comrade,  "  Give  him  a 
volley  of  Latin.  That  will  test  him."  My  friend, 
shaking  his  finger  at  the  stranger,  declaimed  the 
opening  sentence  of  Cicero's  oration  against  Cata- 
line, — "Quousque  tandem,'-  etc.  "  How  long,  O  Cata- 
line,  wilt  thou  abuse  our  jDatience?  "  The  fellow  ac- 
cepted the  challenge  in  true  German  fighting  spirit, 
and  continued  the  quotation,  until  our  aching  sides 
begged  him  to  stop.  A  rax:)id-fire  attack  from 
Homer  brought  us  an  equally  disastrous  defeat. 
The  man  scanned  the  lines  most  beautifully,  and  by 
his  gesticulation  and  facial  expression  showed  that 
he  was  en  rapport  with  their  meaning. 

This  young  student  had  left  his  university  in 
Bavaria  between  sundown  and  sun-rising  to  escape 
arrest  for  some  political  offense ;  had  been  a  soldier 
in  the  Crimean  War,  and  had  been  pursued  by  aveng- 
ing gods,  like  another  Ulysses,  until  he  landed  in 


160  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

New  York.  He  had  no  money,  no  training  in  busi- 
ness, no  knowledge  of  any  handicraft,  and,  for  imagi- 
nable reasons,  did  not  care  to  put  himself  in  com- 
munication with  his  people  in  the  old  country.  My 
friend  and  I  helped  him  as  we  could  out  of  our 
rather  slender  purses,  and  secured  him  a  position  as 
instructor  in  a  small  school.  From  this  position  he 
advanced  rapidly.  Within  three  years  he  was  an 
honored  professor  in  one  of  our  universities.  Quite 
naturally  we  were  lifelong  friends.  A  little  while 
ago  I  sat  before  a  beautiful  memorial  window  in  the 
chapel  of  that  university.  The  glass  was  blazoned 
with  his  name.  Very  impressive  were  my  thoughts 
as  I  contrasted  this  with  his  name  as  he  first  gave 
it  to  me  in  a  little  shop  where,  forty  years  before,  he 
was  doing  chores  to  earn  an  honest  living,  and 
watching  for  an  opening  to  a  higher  level. 

A  Political  Puzzle. 

I  must  here  record  an  incident  that  occurred 
during  my  college  life,  the  remembrance  of  which 
has  had  a  lasting  influence  upon  me.  It  has  been 
like  one  of  those  confluent  streams  that  pour  into 
and  enlarge  the  flow,  and  perhaps  change  the  qual- 
ity of  the  water  in  a  river. 

In  the  latter  part  of  February,  1861,  Mr.  Lincoln 
made  that  eventful  journey  from  his  home  in 
Springfield,  Illinois,  to  Washington,  for  his  inaugu- 
ration. A  group  of  fellow-students  went  to  a  neigh- 
boring city  to  see  and  hear  him.  Notwithstanding 
he  had  been  for  months  in  the  lime-light  of  the 


COLLEGE  DAYS  161 

political  campaign,  and  that  every  attainable  fact 
of  his  biography  had  been  paraded  by  partisan 
favor  or  prejudice,  he  was  still  an  almost  unknown 
man.  His  ability  as  an  executive  statesman  had  not 
yet  been  revealed,  and  was  doubted  by  many. 

While  listening  to  his  brief  speech  I  looked  up  at 
his  tall  form  as  the  impersonation  of  the  riddle  of 
American  history.  Was  he  of  presidential  timber? 
I  was  prepared  either  to  disparage  or  to  applaud. 
But  Mr.  Lincoln  said  nothing  to  provoke  criticism. 
Was  he  a  prophet  who  carefully  shrouded  his  fore- 
sight as  in  the  hooded  mantle?  Or  did  the  "  rail- 
splitter  "  still  predominate  in  him?  While  the  few 
words  he  said  did  not  display  his  genius,  they  awak- 
ened confidence  in  his  character.  The  listener  felt 
that  the  manhood  in  him  was  true  and  strong  and 
consecrated  to  the  great  issue  before  the  country. 
Was  he  homely?  I  do  not  know.  His  face  was  so 
full  of  intelligence,  kindness,  and  patriotic  intensity 
that  I  thought  only  of  the  soul  that  illumined  it. 
Was  he  awlvward?  Were  his  arms  too  long,  and 
his  trousers  bagged  at  the  knees?  I  don't  know. 
The  grace  of  his  sentiment  was  in  every  movement, 
and  that  gave  him  a  kind  of  gracefulness  which  no 
goodliness  of  form  and  no  art  of  gesticulation  could 
have  imparted.  For  instance,  seeing  a  group  of 
ladies  gazing  at  him  from  an  adjoining  balcony,  he 
saluted  them  as  courteously  as  Lord  Chesterfield 
could  have  saluted  the  Queen : — "  Ladies,  we're  in- 
specting one  another,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  have  the 
advantage."    I  remembered  that  somebody  had  said 


162  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

that  "  the  gentle  soul  is  the  mistress  of  gentle 
manners." 

This  incident  of  seeing  Mr.  Lincoln  has  a  place  in 
my  biographic  recollection  because  it  started  a  line 
of  thought  which  has  strongly  influenced  me  in  all 
my  reading  of  history  and  observation  of  passing 
current  events.  How  the  great  movements  of  the 
world  hinge  upon  individuals,  their  peculiarities  of 
mind  and  disposition!  And  how  often  these  men 
owe  their  pivotal  i)ositions,  not  to  themselves,  their 
ability,  or  their  ambition,  but  to  circumstances, 
such  as  their  availability  in  certain  emergencies,  the 
balance  of  parties,  their  chancing  at  a  certain  mo- 
ment to  be  at  the  spot  where  the  lime-light  happened 
to  fall,  so  they  became  known ;  or,  it  may  be  due  to 
a  fact  that  might  seem  to  indicate  their  unfitness, 
namely,  that  they  were  comparatively  unknown 
when  others  in  prominence  had  excited  special  ani- 
mosities, which  prevented  their  being  chosen  for 
leadership.  We  speak  of  the  "  philosophy  of  his- 
tory " ;  but  who  on  earth  understands  that  philoso- 
phy? The  hazards  of  history  are  more  mingled  and 
startling. 

This  line  of  thought  might  lead  one  to  pessimism, 
were  it  not  that  the  subsequent  career  of  Mr.  Lin- 
coln suggested  a  diviner  Providence  guiding  human 
affairs,  and  that  great  men  are  made  wiser  than 
they  themselves  or  others  knew. 

The  Uncivil  War. 

As  I  was  completing  my  academic  career  the 


COLLEGE  DAYS  163 

Civil  War  crashed  suddenly  about  us.  Far-seeing 
men  liad  anticipated  the  overflow  of  the  cauldron  of 
sectional  excitement.  Even  we  boys  were  prophetic 
in  our  declamations  of  what  was  impending.  But 
when  at  last  the  mass  of  intermingled  political  pas- 
sions actually  poured  over  the  rim  of  the  cauldron 
we  were  as  much  surprised  as  we  were  horrified. 
The  fact  was  that  in  our  souls  we  had  never  felt  the 
possibility  of  what  we  had  so  certainly  predicted. 
Sheep  will  desert  the  slopes  of  the  volcanoes  when 
their  feet  feel  the  tremor;  but  men  with  all  their 
foresight  are  often  more  stupid.  We,  in  those  days, 
were  scorched  with  the  lava  before  we  heard  the 
alarm  which  our  own  judgment  had  sounded. 

One  of  our  professors,  who  had  been  a  most  deter- 
mined alarmist,  prophesying  the  imminence  of  the 
coming  catastrophe,  brought  the  news  to  the  cam- 
pus— "  Why,  gentlemen,  the  impossible  has  hap- 
pened! South  Carolina  has  fired  upon  Fort  Sum- 
ter !  "  The  youthful  enthusiasm  of  us  undergradu- 
ates quickly  outran  the  more  cautionary  counsel  of 
our  elders.  In  spite  of  the  order  of  the  faculty  that 
lectures  and  recitations  should  not  be  interrupted, 
the  whole  body  of  students  went  on  a  strike.  The 
bell-rope  was  detached,  the  belfry  hatched  down, 
and  from  the  roof  of  our  main  building,  together 
with  several  of  our  brazen-tongued  embryo  orators, 
I  made  my  first  appeal  to  the  "listening  world," 
which  world  consisted  of  the  students  and  the  entire 
population  of  the  town,  who  were  gathered  by  the 
excitement.    Our  professor  of  physics  brought  out 


164  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

from  the  laboratory  an  immense  bar  of  steel,  upon 
which  he  beat  with  a  hammer  the  call  of  class-room 
duty.  But  we  refused  to  recognize  this  unhistoric 
substitute  for  that  old  bell  of  authority  which  had 
called  our  fathers  a  century  ago.  We  lashed  a  stout 
flagpole  to  the  finial  of  the  cupola ;  and  "  Old 
Glory  "  was  unfurled.  There  it  remained  during 
the  entire  war,  until  it  flapped  its  last  shreds  in  the 
gentle  breeze  of  peace. 

The  next  night  after  my  debut  a  public  meeting 
was  held  in  a  large  hall  of  the  town,  addressed  by 
several  statesmen  of  repute.  The  students  became 
impatient  of  the  deliberation  and  temporizing  tone 
of  these  noted  speakers.  We  took  the  platform, 
and  harangued  the  crowd  in  terms  which  would 
have  excited  the  envy  of  the  ghost  of  Demosthenes, 
as  he  recalled  his  Phillipics  against  the  Macedo- 
nian invaders.  We  at  least  equalled  him  in  the 
amount  of  flre  and  smoke  emitted.  No  doubt  my 
grandmother  of  revolutionary  memory  commended 
the  spirit  of  her  descendant's  patriotism,  whatever 
she  may  have  thought  of  his  unfledged  and  flopping 
oratory. 

Associated  with  my  recollections  of  these  exciting 
days  is  one  of  peculiar  sadness.  Many  of  our  stu- 
dents were  from  the  South ;  and  among  them  some 
of  my  closest  companions.  They  were  recalled  to 
their  homes.  The  railroads  entering  Dixie  soon  be- 
came blocked.  Virginians  and  Georgians  and  men 
from  the  Carolinas  were  compelled  to  take  long 
journeys   around   by  the   West.     For   this   their 


^COLLEGE  DAYS  165 

purses  were  insufficient.  The  Northern  boys  shared 
their  poclvets  with  their  unfortunate  comrades.  It 
was  a  bitter  day  wlien,  at  the  railroad  station,  we 
tooli  the  hands  of  tliese  fellows,  with  whom  we  had 
grown  up  from  boyhood  to  manhood,  and  bade  them 
Godspeed  through  the  gathering  uncertainties.  I 
realized  then  for  the  first  time  something  of  the 
meaning  of  a  disrupted  country;  but  the  full  sig- 
nificance of  it  all  was  not  felt  until,  as  the  months 
went  by,  we  heard  of  one  and  another  of  that  band 
who  had  fallen  upon  the  field;  or  as  we  got  a 
glimpse  of  a  familiar  face  among  the  huddled 
crowds  in  our  prison  camps,  or  as  some  captured 
Northern  boy  felt  the  coddling  of  a  familiar  hand 
on  a  Southern  field.  A  few  of  our  comrades  sur- 
vived the  war.  Some  reached  distinction  in  the 
military  command  of  the  Confederacy;  but  alas, 
how  many  were  starred  on  our  class  roll  as  we 
called  that  roll  at  our  reunions  in  after  years ! 

As  I  think  of  the  splendid  characters  of  some  of 
these  men,  as  unselfishly  devoted  to  their  States  as 
we  of  the  North  were  devoted  to  the  Union,  I  find 
myself  rebelling  against  the  fate  which  dragged 
them  through  the  poverty  of  homes  destroyed,  the 
horrors  of  mutilated  bodies  of  themselves  and  their 
kindred,  and  the  untimely  ending  of  many  young 
lives  so  full  of  promise. 

These  experiences  have  given  me  an  intense 
hatred  of  war.  It  is  sometimes  justified  and  neces- 
sary, but  only  when  by  the  carnage  there  can  be 
established  such  justice  and  freedom  and  possible. 


166  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

pursuit  of  happiness  as  shall  make  wars  in  the 
future  less  liable  to  occur.  This  was  true  of  our 
Civil  War,  when  the  indissoluble  Union  of  the 
States  and  Emancipation  of  the  slave  class  were 
absolutely  indispensable  to  the  future  peace  of  the 
land. 


vn 

OUT  IN  THE  WORLD 

Choice  of  Profession. 

1ENVY  the  man  who  has  early  discovered  that 
his  abilities  and  his  tastes  run  in  the  same 
direction ;  that  what  he  most  likes  to  do  is  just 
what  he  can  do  best.  This  gives  one  a  double 
power.  It  is  that  of  a  stream  that  has  both  volume 
and  sufficient  declivity  to  insure  a  rush  of  water. 
Genius  for  an  art  or  occupation,  when  accompanied 
by  an  enthusiasm  for  its  details,  is  generally  the 
prophecy  of  success. 

But  alas  for  the  man  whose  talents  and  tastes  run 
in  opposite  directions !  Taste  without  talent  for  its 
pursuit  leaves  one  a  mere  dilettante ;  talent  without 
taste  for  its  exercise  makes  one  a  machine. 

In  my  college  days  I  found  myself  thus  badly  put 
together  in  my  mental  make-up.  I  likened  myself  to 
an  elephant  that  had  a  trunk  at  either  end — or  more 
likely  a  tail — and  didn't  know  which  way  to  go.  I 
suppose  that  there  was  something  oratorical  about 
my  voice,  manner  or  rhetorical  glibness  that  led  the 
fellows  to  select  me  as  their  spokesman  on  some 
show  occasions.  But  oratory  was  my  especial 
abomination.     I  never  could  declaim.     To  get  up 

167 


168  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

before  otlieis,  and  give  voice,  gesticulation  and 
facial  exiiression  to  a  sentiment  written  by  some- 
body else  made  me  feel  like  the  ass  in  lion's  skin.  I 
could  i3sychologize  by  the  hour  over  Hamlet's  "  To 
be  or  not  to  be  " ;  but  to  spout  the  words  would  be 
as  uncomfortable  for  me  as  to  submit  to  an  opera- 
tion for  the  dropsy.  Similarly  I  hated  to  formally 
debate  for  practice  or  in  competition  for  honors, 
though  I  could  wrangle  with  the  worst  of  my  class- 
mates on  the  slightest  provocation.  To  pronounce 
an  oration — I  had  rather  be  choked.  For  an  hour 
before  I  had  to  make  the  slightest  exhibition  of  my- 
self "  stage  fright "  gripped  me  from  my  knees  up- 
ward. It  brought  on  headache,  indigestion — in- 
deed, physicked  me  thoroughly.  And  so  it  has  been 
for  sixty  odd  years. 

Yet — and  here's  the  misery  of  it — I  could  talk. 
When  "  screwed  up  to  the  sticking  point "  I  suc- 
ceeded on  the  rostrum.  Here  was  my  talent,  if  such 
it  might  be  called;  at  least  my  knack.  How  I 
wanted  to  dig  a  hole  and  bury  it !  Jonah  could  not 
have  hated  his  mission  to  Nineveh  worse  than  I  re- 
belled against  what  seemed  the  call  of  duty  to 
preachify  on  any  topic.  Yet  upon  graduation  I 
found  myself  en  route  for  a  profession  in  which 
tongue  and  cheek  are  by  some  regarded  as  the  es- 
sential adjuncts  of  study.  I  began  my  flight  like  a 
bird  gifted  with  a  goodly  pair  of  wings  but  with 
rheumatic  joints.  And  the  rheumatism  has  never 
left  me. 

I  had  a  classmate  who  was  similarly  afflicted.  He 


OUT  IN  THE  WORLD  169 

was  the  best  speaker  of  us  all,  but  sometimes  almost 
wished  that  he  had  been  tongue-tied,  so  that  one 
professional  avenue  be  closed  to  him.  He  entered 
the  ministry  of  his  denomination.  In  one  of  his 
letters  referring  to  his  choice  he  wrote,  "  Passion  is 
said  to  be  destiny.  Is  it  so?  Or  is  some  apparent 
adaptedness  ? — How  much  in  the  dark  we  are !  And 
yet  the  tearfulness  of  a  mistake !  " 

But  he  made  no  mistake.  As  I  write  the  news 
comes  to  me  that  "  dear  old  Sam  " — I  think  his 
ghost  will  be  better  pleased  with  that  designation 
than  that  of  "  the  Reverend  Doctor  " — has  just  died, 
honored  for  his  work  during  more  than  a  half 
century. 

Would  I  to-day  choose  the  same  profession  I  then 
chose?  Doubtless ;  for  I  can  see  no  other  in  which 
I  could  be  more  helpful  to  my  fellow-men.  Yet  I 
have  gone  to  my  public  duties  "  like  the  quarry 
slave  scourged,"  and  so  it  will  be  until  my  last 
speech  raises  its  welt  on  my  soul. 

In  such  an  experience  of — I  will  not  say  ability, 
but  rather  adaptability — and  taste  warring  within 
one  I  am  not  alone.  Men  in  all  occupations  lament 
it.  The  most  genial  of  our  American  poets  used  to 
complain  to  me  that  his  daily  life  was  to  "  howl  like 
a  hyena  for  six  hours  in  the  Stock  Exchange,  then 
go  to  his  library  too  tired  to  think."  What  might 
not  that  man  have  been  if  his  rare  ability  as  a 
financier  and  the  needs  of  his  large  family  had  not 
diverted  his  soul  from  the  banks  of  the  Elysian 
stream ! 


170  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

A  young  friend  graduated  from  Annapolis.  Dur- 
ing his  "  Middy  "  days  he  showed  rare  ability  in 
naval  science,  and  was  ticketed  for  early  advance. 
But  he  hated  the  sea,  and  especially  hated  war,  and 
soon  left  the  navy  to  enter  civil  life.  When  the 
Spanish  War  broke  out,  from  simple  sense  of  duty 
he  volunteered  his  service.  His  heroism  and  naval 
skill  at  Santiago  won  him  high  honors  duly  ac- 
corded by  Congress.  What  a  sea-captain  he  would 
have  made  if  he  had  had  as  much  love  for  the  waves 
as  for  his  country,  and  had  possessed  the  real  Vik- 
ing soul! 

Dr.  was  one  of  the  foremost  surgeons  of 

the  land  before  the  day  of  anaesthesia.  He  often 
spoke  of  his  sickening  at  the  sight  of  blood ;  of  how 
the  making  an  incision  in  another's  flesh  was  almost 
as  jDainful  as  if  he  were  cutting  his  own.  Before  a 
serious  operation  he  would  sometimes  fall  upon 
his  knees  and  cry,  "  O  God,  why  must  I  do  this 
thing?  "  Yet  he  knew  that  he  could  do  "  this  thing  " 
as  perhaps  no  other  man  could  do  it,  and  he  said  "  I 
must."  He  knew  his  anatomy  so  thoroughly,  and 
by  force  of  clear  grit  could  so  steady  his  nerve 
that  the  knife  went  without  error  along  the  thin 
line  between  life  and  death.  For  forty  years  he 
did  "  this  thing,"  until  nature  made  his  hand  to 
tremble.  He  then  spoke  of  the  "  saving  grace  of 
palsy." 

I  can  appreciate  this.  I  have  dreaded  an  audi- 
ence so  that  I  could  almost  pray  for  laryngeal  par- 
alysis.   This  has  proved  a  great  hindrance  in  all  my 


OUT  IN  THE  WOKLD  171 

career.  I  have  declined  many  invitations  to  address 
my  fellow-citizens  upon  topics  with  Avhicli  circum- 
stances made  me  familiar.  I  have  shirked  my  duty 
simply  because  overborne  at  the  moment  by  this 
temperamental,  but  wholly  irrational,  shrinking; 
and  have  afterward  been  cudgelled  by  my  con- 
science for  my  cowardice.  In  Boards  of  Direction  I 
frequently  allow  action  to  be  taken  without  con- 
trary argument  even  when  I  feel  that  my  colleagues 
are  clearly  in  the  wrong, — and  this  from  a  mere 
animal  timidity  to  get  upon  my  feet. 

To  compare  little  things  with  great,  I  comfort 
myself  for  this  temperamental  weakness  by  recall- 
ing that  John  Bright  always  came  to  breakfast  com- 
plaining that  it  was  a  chilly  day  if  he  had  to  make 
a  speech  before  night.  A  distinguished  pulpit  or- 
ator told  me  that  once  in  his  early  ministry  he  en- 
gaged to  preach  in  a  country  church;  but  that,  on 
approaching  the  building,  he  was  seized  with  such 
fright  that  he  ran  away  and  hid  himself  in  the 
woods  until  the  hour  of  service  had  passed  and  the 
farmers  had  driven  home.  But  how  he  could  preach 
when  he  had  to ! 

I  have  often  wished  that  I  enjoyed  hearing  myself 
talk,  as  some  of  my  professional  neighbors  evidently 
do.  A  friend  tells  me  of  the  thrill  he  experiences 
when  in  the  swing  of  his  oratory.  The  gladness 
when  the  flashing  eyes  of  his  audience  show  that  he 
is  holding  them  en  rapport  with  his  own  sentiment 
and  emotion,  he  declares  is  better  than  a  feast  with 
the  houris  in  a  Mohammedan  Paradise.     The  ec- 


172  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

stasy  of  his  rhetorical  flights  must  be  something 
similar  to  that  of  an  aviator  soaring  above  the 
crowds  who  gaze  gaping  at  liis  skill.  If  it  is  a  man's 
business  to  speak,  how  providential  that  the  wag- 
ging of  his  tongue  pleases  him,  as  the  wagging  of 
his  tail  pleases  a  dog! 

While  on  this  topic  of  ill-j)ut-together  brains  and 
heart  I  may  tell  of  a  "  happy  find  "  on  the  part  of  a 
friend  of  mine.  He  was  a  born  artist.  With  a  few 
strokes  of  his  pencil  he  would  dej)ict  any  object 
about  him,  a  flower,  a  bird,  the  face  of  a  man,  and 
even  the  character  that  lies  so  thinly  veiled  back  of 
the  countenance.  How  he  rollicked  in  his  amateur 
art !  To  this  delight  was  added  a  passionate  love  of 
nature.  From  the  spider's  Aveb  in  the  corner  of  the 
room  to  the  white  summer  clouds  that  crawled  over 
the  sky  the  visible  universe  was  his  j)layground. 

His  hete  noire,  however,  was  business,  whatever 
form  it  might  take.  To  be  a  drummer,  a  solicitor  of 
trade  was  his  special  abomination.  Yet  he  had  an 
ingratiating  manner  that  was  worth  a  fortune,  and 
the  need  of  "  turning  the  i)enny  "  drove  him  into  life 
insurance !  It  happened  in  some  way  that  a  few  of 
his  offhand  amateur  sketches  got  into  a  magazine, 
and  about  the  same  time  one  of  his  breezy  pen-pic- 
tures of  a  woodsy  scene  was  hung  in  a  gallery.  He 
received  an  overture  from  a  publisher  for  more  of 
what  he  called  only  his  "  inky  spasms."  He  found 
that  he  could  support  himself  with  pencil  and  pen. 
Soon  he  became  one  of  our  best  paid  delineators. 
His  enthusiasm  for  what  was  noAv  his  life-work  was, 


OUT  IN  THE  WORLD  173 

as  the  word  signifies,  an  en-theos,  an  inspiration 
both  of  vision  and  of  joy.  He  was  as  happy — well ! 
as  one  of  his  own  pictures.  And  that  is  saying 
much,  for  all  America  has  enjoyed  them.    But  think 

of ,  who  could  transform  a  bit  of  cardboard 

into  a  sylvan  stream  with  the  sprites  dancing 
through  its  sparkling  ripj)les,  or  create  the  illusion 
that  a  robin  was  twitching  its  tail  because  its  mouth 
was  open,  or  make  his  brush  tell  that  it  was  five 
o'clock  of  a  June  day  instead  of  three  o'clock  in 
July — spending  his  own  and  your  time  in  inducing 
you  to  save  your  earnings  for  the  sake  of  your  un- 
born children,  and  incidentally  pocket  a  commission 
for  himself! 

The  Wife. 

As  these  are  the  reminiscences  of  an  ordinary 
man,  I  pass  over  many  things  that  were  peculiar  to 
my  individual  circumstances,  and  keep  to  the  road 
of  common  experience.  A  very  commonplace  thing 
happened  to  me, — I  fell  in  love. 

All  young  men — all  full  men — do.  I  am  enough 
of  a  realist  to  hold  that  femininity,  like  a  condition 
of  the  atmosphere,  say  the  subtle  influence  of  the 
springtime,  affects  a  healthy  young  fellow  before 
the  etherial  substance  of  femininity  has  material- 
ized into  the  definite  feminine.  One  of  the  most 
complete  victims  of  the  passion  was  a  comrade  who 
never  married  simply  because  he  never  discovered 
the  embodiment  of  his  ideal.  He  talked  incessantly 
about  ^^  lier"  even  wrote  sonnets  to  her  eyelashes 


174  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

and  slii^per  buckles,  augel-ized  her  as  thoroughly  as 
Dante  did  his  Beatrice  in  Vita  Nuova,  and  with  the 
same  purpose : 

"Non  perch'  io  creda  sue  laude  finire, 
Ma  ragionar  per  isfogar  la  mente;" 

not  because  he  imagined  he  could  tell  all  her 
charms,  but  he  discoursed  only  to  ease  his  own 
soul.  The  sheet-lightning  of  "  the  eternal  femi- 
nine "  always  flashed  about  my  friend,  though  it 
shot  no  bolt  to  strike  him.  In  which  respect,  as  in 
the  merit  of  his  lines,  he  and  the  great  poet  were 
quite  diverse.    And  I  too. 

It  is  said  of  Telemachus  that  he  was  saved  from 
Cupid's  arrow^s  by  Minerva,  the  goddess  of  Wisdom, 
who  threw  her  shield  before  his  breast,  whereupon 
Venus  and  her  enfant  terrible  took  flight — Mi- 
nerva, being  wise,  did  not  interfere  in  my  case. 
If  I  tell  about  this  adventure  I  know  that  I  run 
the  risk  of  being  discredited  by  popular  novelists 
and  their  readers;  for  I  cannot  recall  in  modern 
romances  of  the  grand  passion  any  description  of 
female  character  resembling  that  of  the  woman  who 
won  my  heart,  or  the  record  of  any  experience  of 
captivated  swains  that  parallels  my  own. 

This  surly  criticism  of  bookmakers  will  reveal  the 
reason  why  I  have  no  interest  in  the  ordinary  love 
story.  Give  me  a  yarn  of  swash-buckling,  intrigu- 
ing, courtiering,  vagabonding,  or  of  adventures  on 
the  high  seas.  They  entertain  me,  because  I  don't 
know  enough  of  these  things  to  dispute  the  veri* 


OUT  m  THE  WOKLD  175 

similitude  of  the  descrijjtions.  But  regarding  love 
affairs  I  am  expert,  and  therefore  skip  the  pages 
that  romancers  and  their  unmated  readers  gener- 
ally regard  as  most  delicious.  I  appreciate  the  jjoet 
who  said,  "  I  long  to  talk  with  some  old  lover's 
ghost  who  died  before  the  god  of  love  was  born." 

"  I  am  going  to  introduce  you  to  a  young  lady 
whom  you  will  like,  unless  you  are  a  duller  fellow 
that  I  have  credited  you  with  being,"  said  one  of  my 
old-time  instructors  whom  I  was  visiting. 

I  glanced  at  the  Professor's  wife, — one  of  the 
most  beautiful,  queenly,  motherly,  big-sisterly 
women  that  ever  sacrificed  herself  to  become  the 
caretaker  of  a  grubber  of  linguistic  roots. 

"  Professor,"  I  replied,  "  I  am  prepared  to  fall  in 
love  with  the  lady  at  sight,  on  the  recommendation 
of  a  man  who  himself  has  demonstrated  his  good 
judgment  of  the  sex." 

The  Professor's  wife  frowned.  "I  warn  you, 
young  man,  not  to  attempt  such  flattery  with  the 
lady  in  question,  or  our  introduction  will  prove 
useless." 

I  met  Miss  X  in  company  of  a  bevy  of  her  com- 
panions. She  was  not  so  beautiful  as  Miss  A,  nor 
so  vivacious  as  Miss  B.  Miss  C  could  talk  more 
glibly  of  art  and  literature,  and  Miss  D  more  flat- 
teringly asked  questions  about  a  young  man's  pro- 
fessional ambitions.  Miss  E  smiled  more  oppor- 
tunely and  winsomely.  Any  one  of  these  would 
have  attracted  more  attention  from  a  fellow  during 
the  first  half -hour.     But  somehow  before  the  even- 


176  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

ing  was  over  I  felt  better  acquainted  with  Miss  X 
than  with  the  others.  Did  she  jiossess  a  clairvoyant 
power  of  reading  my  thoughts  so  that  from  the 
start  our  conversation  was  a  little  deeper  than  the 
surface  conventionalities? 

I  have  met  and  admired  many  women  gifted  with 
the  ability  in  a  few  words  to  draw  out  a  man,  to 
assay  his  tastes,  to  catch  the  key  of  his  prevailing 
disposition  and  sentiments.  This  is  a  valuable  ac- 
complishment for  any  woman  who  is  called  upon  to 
entertain  in  society.  It  makes  her  the  best  of 
hostesses,  especially  appreciated  by  a  new  acquaint- 
ance given,  as  I  was,  to  bashfulness.  I  call  it  an 
accomplishment;  for,  while  some  have  an  intuitive 
talent  in  that  way,  it  is  generally  an  acquired  tact, 
and  belongs  to  the  high  art  of  social  courtesy. 

Miss  X  did  not  draw  me  out.  I  came  out  as  natu- 
rally as  a  pansy  expands  in  the  sunshine.  From 
that  first  evening  I  felt  j^erfectly  at  home  with  her. 
I  appreciated  Buddha's  feeling  when  he  first  saw 
the  woman  who  was  to  be  his  wife.  He  imagined 
that  she  must  have  been  his  companion  in  some 
former  state  of  existence,  on  the  tree  or  in  the  den. 
Miss  X's  mind  and  mine  seemed  to  me  like  two 
streams  that,  however  different  their  sources,  when 
they  touch  flow  in  the  same  channel.  Our  ideals  lay 
in  the  same  direction,  although  I  realized  from  the 
first  that  hers  were  higher,  purer  and  more  health- 
ful than  mine  could  ever  be  without  her  tuition. 

As  our  acquaintance  grew  I  found  that  in  intel- 
lectual opinions  we  often  differed.    She  frankly  dis- 


OUT  IN  THE  WOKLD  1T7 

sented  from  some  of  my  views,  even  thought  them 
prej)osterous  and  told  me  so;  but  our  moral  judg- 
ments concurred; — at  least  they  did  after  she  had 
fully  revealed  her  own.  In  the  glow  of  her  con- 
science I  clearly  saw  what  was,  or  ought  to  be,  in 
my  own.  We  had  the  same  root  convictions  on 
matters  that  count  for  character. 

She  was  wiser  than  I.  Maybe  I  saw  more  things, 
but  she  saw  things  in  a  clearer  light,  and  convinced 
me  that  I  often  saw  only  mirages.  I  could  out-argue 
her,  but  in  the  end  she  got  the  decision  of  the  court 
of  common  sense.  By  some  short-cut  of  intuition 
she  reached  the  vital  point  before  I  did,  and  awaited 
my  coming  along  afterward,  and  with  a  smile  that 
meant  "I  told  you  so,"  though  she  never  uttered 
such  teasing  words. 

Of  course,  I  wasn't  in  love  with  her, — yet.  I  only 
felt  a  restfulness  when  in  her  company,  such  as  no 
other  woman  or  man  ever  gave  me.  When  tired  or 
worried  with  professional  work  my  feet  were  drawn 
to  her  home.  We  talked  about  nothing  strictly  per- 
sonal, certainly  nothing  sentimental.  Neither 
sought  to  intrude  within  the  other's  life,  but  natu- 
rally we  walked  together  in  many  common  paths. 

I  had  a  problem;  how  account  for  this  spell? 
When  I  tried  to  solve  the  problem  which  I  felt  was 
entangling  me  I  discovered  a  luminous  centre  to  it ; 
it  was  herself.  I  had  to  confess  that  my  interest  in 
her  was  more  than  Interest;  it  was  attachment. 
Would  I  dare  to  tell  her  that?  Not  yet.  I  once 
broke  a  beautiful  vase  with  my  clumsy  handling. 


178  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

The  perfume  of  our  friendship  was  too  precious  for 
me  to  risk  spoiling  it  by  any  unwarranted  obtru- 
siveness.  I  hojied  that  the  Fates  who  spin  our  life 
threads  would  intentionally  twist  ours  together, 
and  waited  patiently  for  their  denouement. 

Very  happily  for  me  I  at  length  discovered  that 
she  was  interested  in  me  as  an  individual  specimen 
of  the  genus  homo;  that  she  really  cared  to  know 
what  I  was  doing  because  it  was  I  that  did  it.  Al- 
though I  knew  that  she  despised  an  egotist,  she  let 
me  talk  about  myself.  Her  kindness  led  me  to  tell 
her  things  that  I  told  no  one  else,  and  I  got  my  re- 
ward in  her  undoubted  sympathy  or  wise  encour- 
agement. My  foolish  notions  she  frankly  corrected ; 
but  I  took  no  more  umbrage  at  it  than  did  her  cro- 
chet-work when  she  unravelled  the  false  stitches. 

Now  in  all  this  there  was  at  first  not  the  least 
experience  of  sex  fascination.  I  thought  of  her,  not 
so  much  as  a  woman,  but  as  a  kindred  soul;  like 
what  a  man  might  have  been  to  me  if  only  he  had  a 
soul  ten  fathoms  deeper  than  any  man's  soul  ever 
was. 

One  day  I  told  her  what  I  thought  of  her ;  how  I 
prized  her  companionship.  If  I  had  thought  out  my 
words  beforehand  I  would  in  all  probability  have 
said  less.  But  that  little  Winged  Imp  tricked  me, 
and  made  me  say  I  know  not  what.  But  it  must 
have  been  just  the  right  thing,  for  she  replied  that  it 
made  her  very  happy  to  know  that  she  could  be  help- 
ful to  me.  And  somehow  the  word  "  always " 
passed  between  us.    Maybe  neither  of  us  said  it.    It 


OUT  IN  THE  WOKLD  179 

was,  perhaps,  only  telepathic.  Maybe  nothing  was 
said  for  the  next  ten  minutes.  My  memory  of  that 
time  is  awfully  mixed.  To  the  end  of  our  married 
life  she  insisted  that  we  had  no  engagement;  that 
the  ring  was  an  afterthought.  Of  one  thing  I  am 
sure,  there  was  no  scene  worth  reporting;  no  sur- 
prise, for  it  was  as  if  it  had  always  been  intended  to 
be  so;  no  coyness,  she  was  too  frank  for  that;  but 
as  I  looked  into  her  face  I  saw  a  new  light  there.  I 
knew  it  to  be  a  woman's  love ;  but  what  a  woman's 
love  really  means  it  took  forty  years  to  find  out; 
and  even  yet  the  story  has  not  been  told.  I  wonder 
at  it  as  I  do  at  the  sunrise,  the  starry  skies,  and 
what  God  may  be. 

One  may  call  this  too  prosaic.  I  prefer  prose  to 
poetry  in  contract  deeds.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
sentimental  about.  The  real  sentiment  had  been 
running  very  deep  for  months,  deeper  than  either  of 
us  knew  until  that  moment.  We  were  not  interested 
in  its  mere  ripples. 

Nearly  half  a  century  of  such  a  woman's  love! 
Do  you  wonder  that  I  don't  like  "love  stories"? 
Geese  cackling  when  angels  are  passing  overhead. 

Downs  and  Ups. 

After  entering  my  chosen  profession  I  attained 
in  it  an  early  success.  This  statement  may  seem 
to  invalidate  the  claim  of  my  story  to  be  that  of  an 
ordinary  man,  since  it  is  the  sad  fact  that  most  men 
reach  a  position  of  abiding  competence  only  when 
their  failing  physical  powers  cease  to  supply  the 


180  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

zest  for  good  living,  or  some  malady  denies  them  the 
ease  for  which  they  have  labored,  or,  it  may  be,  that 
bereavements  have  broken  those  companionships 
which  had  become  essential  to  their  enjoyment  of 
almost  anything.  But  a  man  may  be  very  ordinary, 
both  in  his  natural  calibre  and  in  the  ammunition 
of  his  acquirements,  and  yet  make  a  long  shot  be- 
cause of  some  commanding  height  upon  which  cir- 
cumstances have  placed  him. 

This  was  my  case ;  though  I  must  confess  to  hav- 
ing had  some  preliminary  practice  which  was  more 
like  shooting  from  a  ditch  into  a  mud-bank.  I  had 
endeavored  to  secure  a  certain  position — a  very 
lowly  one  for  a  man  with  sheepskin  credentials, — 
which,  however,  would  bring  me  a  temporary  half- 
livable  income,  but  perhaps  serve  as  a  fulcrum  for 
something  higher.  I  must  begin  somewhere.  I 
bid  for  the  situation  with  my  best  address.  Indeed, 
with  the  pride  of  a  recent  graduate  I  thought  I  was 
doing  a  favor  to  the  place  by  showing  a  willing- 
ness to  accept  it,  using  expensive  flies  to  catch  a 
bullhead.  But  after  my  most  fascinating  endeavor 
those  to  whom  I  applied  turned  me  down  in  a 
manner  that  made  me  suspect  that  I  was  lacking  in 
even  ordinary  ability.  A  man  whom  I  had  re- 
garded as  a  blunderhead  was  selected  in  preference. 

My  Zeppelin  conceit  was  punctured;  my  self- 
confidence  floundered.  My  ideals,  my  ambitions,  so 
patiently  and  hopefully  wrought  for  years,  tumbled 
into  the  scrap-heap.  If  I  could  not  get  upon  that 
lowest  rung  of  the  ladder  why  try  to  climb  higher? 


OUT  IN  THE  WORLD  181 

Only  one  who  lias  felt  it  can  appreciate  the  sense 
of  humiliation  and  depression  at  my  defeat. 

Out  of  that  "  slough  of  despond  "  I  was  suddenly 
lifted,  aerated  and  reinflated.  I  received  an  un- 
expected invitation  from  a  distant  city  to  accept  a 
l^osition  the  emolument  from  which  was  ten  times 
as  much  as  I  had  prospectively  lost.  The  reputa- 
tion I  acquired  by  having  been  selected  for  this 
place  gave  me  easy  opportunities  for  advancing  fur- 
ther, for  "  nothing  succeeds  like  success." 

Only  in  after  years  did  I  learn  the  secret  of  my 
good  fortune.  It  had  been  due  entirely  to  a  friend 
whose  kindly  offices  I  did  not  know  of  until  after 
his  death.  He  was  a  man  of  great  influence,  upon 
whose  judgment  others  depended,  who  had  con- 
ceived for  me  what  was  almost  a  fatuous  affection, 
and,  "  the  wish  being  father  to  the  thought,"  had 
imagined  that  I  was  possessed  of  an  ability  that  I 
am  sure  I  did  not  possess. 

Not  knowing  his  hand  in  the  matter,  I  was  per- 
haps unduly  encouraged.  Yet  the  stimulus  came 
at  a  needed  moment  to  counteract  the  self-deprecia- 
tion occasioned  by  the  failure  of  my  previous  at- 
tempt. I  always  think  of  the  two  experiences  as 
providential  counterparts, — ^the  black  and  the  white 
in  the  picture. 

A  letter  from  an  old  college  chum,  congratulating 
me  on  my  good  luck,  contained  a  healthful  sug- 
gestion which  at  the  time  I  regarded  as  only  a  bit 
of  pleasantry,  but  which,  knowing  as  I  did  his 
candid  habit  of  mind  and  his  honest  friendship  for 


182  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

me,  led  me  to  some  very  helpful  thinking.  Said  my 
correspondent,  "  In  the  world's  great  banquet  the 
dessert  sometimes  comes  first;  if  so,  it  is  apt  to 
spoil  one's  relish  for  the  less  savory  viands  that 
follow."  Poor  fellow!  He  found  it  so.  He  was 
a  brilliant  man,  at  the  time  entering  upon  a  very 
popular  career,  which  was  soon  cut  short  by  dis- 
tressing circumstances  that  hastened  the  inroad  of 
a  fatal  disease.  On  hearing  of  his  death  I  reread 
his  old  letter.  Perhaps  in  the  ill-ordered  menu  of 
life  I  had  begun  with  the  sweets  instead  of  the  soup. 

Notwithstanding  my  prosperity,  I  would  fre- 
quently try  to  take  stock  of  my  real  qualifications 
for  my  position.  In  sombre  moments  I  was  in- 
clined to  think  that  the  gentlemen  who  had  so  un- 
ceremoniously rejected  me  in  my  first  venture  might 
have  been  wise.  I  often  felt  hypocritical  in  accept- 
ing the  flatteries  of  success,  and  became  distrust- 
ful of  myself,  not  unlike  a  small  boy  who  has 
climbed  too  high  a  tree,  and  knows  that  the  branches 
are  thin  and  brittle.  If  I  could  have  done  so  I 
would  gladly  have  climbed  down  to  a  lower  limb; 
but  responsibilities  were  continually  boosting  me  in 
the  other  direction. 

The  consequence  of  this  was,  no  doubt,  helpful 
in  a  certain  way.  It  put  me  upon  my  mettle.  It 
toughened  my  energies.  It  drew  into  activity 
traits  of  mental  character  that  in  a  less  important 
position  might  have  remained  undeveloped.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  my  ever-pressing  duties  allowed 
me  no  time  to  cultivate  elements  in  my  nature  which 


OUT  IN  THE  WORLD  183 

are  more  fundamental  to  character,  and  essential 
to  one's  deepest  satisfaction  and  moral  force.  I 
felt  like  a  mollusc  growing  more  shell  than  inner 
substance.  I  was  overtaxed  to  accomplish  external 
things;  out  of  breath  in  trying  to  keep  up  with 
myself. 

I  am  convinced,  after  somewhat  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  prominent  persons,  that  this  ex- 
perience is  quite  common.  Many  of  our  best  men 
are  making  overdraughts,  not  only  on  their  phys- 
ical strength  but  on  their  mental  ability  also. 
They  have  not  time  to  secure  their  "  deposits  "  by 
quiet  thinking,  reading,  and  especially  by  the  ex- 
ercise of  their  more  spiritual  qualities.  To  gauge 
one's  real  abilities,  and  refuse  the  flattery  of  seem- 
ing opportunities ;  to  maintain  leisure  to  keep  one's 
heart  warm,  and  resist  many  calls  of  mere  outward 
ambition; — this  is  a  prime  maxim  for  those  who 
would  make  the  most  of  life. 

Other's  Hands  on  Ours. 

Let  me  revert  to  my  friend  who  thrust  me  so  far 
up  the  ladder  of  success.  My  gratitude  is  not 
lessened  by  the  conviction  that  either  he  lacked 
shrewdness  in  sizing  me  up,  or  his  love  for  me 
tempted  him  to  garnish  the  plain  truth  about  me 
when  talking  to  others. 

How  much  we  are  indebted  to  the  good  will  of 
other  people  for  our  prosperity !  A  friend  who  is 
disposed  to  make  our  interests  his  own  will  prove 
a  real  providence  in  human  disguise.     Syrian  lads. 


184  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

finding  themselves  mutually  congenial,  have  a  cus- 
tom of  making  what  they  call  Brotherhood  in  God, 
a  vow  of  helpfulness  which  lasts  through  life.  The 
compact  may  not  be  known  to  others,  but  where  one 
goes  the  other  follows  with  at  least  a  wary  eye  and 
a  ready  hand.  If  one  falls  the  other  lifts.  Is  one 
prosperous,  the  other  shares.  Has  one  an  enemy, 
he  has  also  an  invisible  shield.  Perhaps  there  is 
an  allusion  to  this  custom  in  the  oriental  proverb, 
"  Two  are  better  than  one."  I  once  heard  a  good 
sermon  from  "  Make  friends,"  the  rest  of  the  text, 
"of  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness,"  being  left 
off. 

In  this  I  am  not  advocating  the  current  habit  of 
young  men  who  are  always  looking  for  a  "  pull." 
Nobody  will  go  far  out  of  the  way  to  pull  you  unless 
he  has  his  own  personal  interest  to  serve,  or  unless 
he  is  deeply  interested  in  you.  In  the  former  case 
he  will  be  apt  to  drop  you  when  you  become  too 
dependent  on  him,  as  a  certain  climber  of  the 
Matterhorn  is  accused  of  having  cut  the  rope  that 
tied  his  comrades  to  him  when  their  weight  or 
clumsiness  endangered  his  own  foothold. 

Yet  much  of  our  social,  business  and  professional 
life  is  determined  by  "  pulls,"  as  gravitation  or  af- 
finities hold  the  world  of  things  together.  "  Thine 
own  friend  and  thy  father's  friend  forsake  not," 
was  a  piece  of  advice  that  the  worldly-shrewd  Solo- 
mon thought  well  to  give  to  the  young  men  of  his 
day.  We  are  reminded  of  the  saying  of  Shake- 
speare: "We  are  born  to  do  benefits.     O  what  a 


OUT  IN  THE  WORLD  185 

precious  comfort  'tis  to  have  so  many  like  brothers, 
commanding  one  another's  fortunes !  " 

Two  of  my  young  friends  were  comrades  in 
school.  One  aimed  at  business  life ;  the  other  chose 
a  professional  career  that  necessitated  a  university 
course.  Their  boyish  love  for  each  other  never 
flagged.  An  unformulated  compact  of  mutual  de- 
votion held  them  when  their  paths  diverged.  The 
business  lad  shared  his  meagre  earnings  to  pay  the 
advanced  school  and  college  bills  of  his  yoke-fellow. 
The  other  returned  as  unstintedly  his  encourage- 
ment and  his  after  professional  counsel.  Knowing, 
as  I  do,  the  secret  between  them,  it  is  a  happy  sight 
that  of  these  two  now  silvered  heads,  the  one  a 
university  president,  the  other  the  i)resident  of  a 
flourishing  corporation,  hobnobbing  by  the  fire- 
side. 

A  prominent  merchant  of  considerable  wealth 
one  day  asked  me  to  select  from  my  acquaintances 
a  young  man  of  good  head  and  proved  character 
who  needed  financial  aid,  proi)osing  to  set  him  up 
in  business. 

"  I  do  this,"  said  my  friend,  "  in  grateful  remem- 
brance of  old  Mr. ,"  mentioning  the  name  of 

a  magnate  of  the  street  in  the  generation  just  past. 
"  I  was  a  poor  boy  clerking  in  a  small  grocery  store. 

Mr. ,  who  lived  near  by,  was  in  the  habit  of 

giving  me  a  kindly  word  when  passing.  One  day 
he  lectured  me  rather  severely  for  standing  so  much 
of  the  time  on  the  store  stoop  with  my  hands  in  my 
pockets.     When  I  told  him  there  was  little  to  do 


186  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

inside,  he  told  me  to  use  my  brains  and  make  busi- 
ness outside.  I  explained  that  I  was  not  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  shop  and  could  do  nothing.  '  Then 
start  for  yourself,'  said  he.  He  forced  upon  me 
the  loan  of  enough  to  buy  several  wagon-loads  of 
potatoes  that  the  farmers  were  bringing  daily  into 
town.  '  These  potatoes,'  said  he,  ^  have  eyes,  and  if 
you  will  look  through  them  you  may  find  a  fortune 
for  yourself.'  It  was  a  small  venture,  unlike  that 
of  yesterday  when  I  sold  a  hundred  thousand 
bushels  of  wheat  stored  in  my  elevator  down  by  the 
river ;  but  without  that  first  job  I  couldn't  have  done 

the  last  one ;  and  without  Mr. 's  kindly  deed 

I  would  have  done  neither.  Now  I  want  to  do  some- 
thing like  that  for  some  other  young  fellow.    I 

think  old  Mr.  's  ghost  would  like  to  see  me 

do  it  if  it  ever  comes  back  to  haunt  the  market,  I 
don't  know  my  man ;  so  will  let  you  select  him." 

I  picked  out  the  lucky  man,  and  with  a  result  ap- 
proximately similar  to  that  which  he  had  nar- 
rated. 

I  am  very  happy  to  record  that  on  various  occa- 
sions I  have  thus  played  the  mutual  friend  to  others 
who  were  not  previously  acquainted.  There  are 
several  prosperous  men  in  our  land  who,  if  they 
should  read  the  above  incident,  might,  except  for 
the  part  played  by  the  potatoes,  think  that  I  am  re- 
ferring to  them.  I  have  been  the  secret  agent  of  a 
certain  Broadway  saint  who  used  surreptitiously  to 
keep  students  in  the  university,  to  make  amends,  as 
the  benefactor  said,  for  having  himself  neglected  to 


OUT  IN  THE  WOKLD  187 

obtain  an  education.  The  beneficiary  in  this  case 
never  knew  to  whom  he  was  indebted.  Young  men 
are  not  generally  aware  how  much  personal  sug- 
gestion and  endorsement  by  others  must  be  credited 
with  their  advancement.  Nor  are  they  advertised 
of  the  older  eyes  that  watch  them  lest  we  make  a 
mistake  in  our  recommendation.  I  repeat  then, 
"  make  friends ;  "  but  be  exceeding  careful  to  merit 
the  friendship. 

I  was  once  particeps  criminis  in  bringing  about 
a  marriage.  John  and  Mary  had  been  engaged  for 
many  years ;  but  there  was  a  gulf  that  even  Cupid's 
wings  could  not  fiy  across.  Mary  had  to  keep  house 
and  care  for  an  invalid  mother.  John  scraped  his 
knuckles  to  the  bone  in  gathering  enough  to  pay 
the  interest  on  his  farm  mortgage.  A  summer 
neighbor  said  to  me : 

"  That  John  and  Mary  business  is  getting  on  my 
nerves.  It's  a  shame  that  such  a  devoted  couple 
should  live  apart  while  their  hair  is  getting  gray. 
Let's  fix  them  up !  " 

John's  mortgage  was  taken  care  of  by  my  friend 
in  such  a  way  that  he  need  have  no  further  solici- 
tude about  it.  A  plan  was  laid  for  the  comfort  of 
Mary's  mother  without  her  daughter's  incessant  at- 
tendance. Mary  was  induced  to  visit  my  friend  at 
his  city  home.  John  was  sent  for  in  post-haste. 
He  arrived  with  no  suspicion  of  what  was  in  the 
wind.  An  hour  later  the  couple  were  confronted 
with  a  minister  and  two  witnesses,  and  before  they 
were  fairly  out  of  their  bewilderment  they  were 


188  ALONG'THE'FRIENDLY  WAY 

man  and  wife.  The  surprise  so  took  away  Jolin's 
breath  that  he  forgot  to  kiss  his  bride  after  the 
ceremony. 

I  am  now  looking  out  from  my  window  toward 
the  "  sunset  and  evening  star."  Around  me  lies  an 
interminable  stretch  of  dun  and  yellow  hills,  like 
much  of  my  life,  so  filled  with  self-service  that  I 
don't  care  to  remember  it.  Here  and  there  out 
yonder  are  glowing  splashes  of  autumnal  tint,  like 
Moses'  bush  that  burned  and  was  not  consumed. 
The  sunset  glow  sets  them  on  fire.  How  they 
fascinate  the  eye!  These  remind  me  of  the  inci- 
dents of  helpfulness  in  which  I  have  had  some  little 
part.  They  are  the  brightest  things  in  the  whole 
landscape  of  recollection.  They  seem  to  belong  to 
the  land  beyond  the  horizon. 

My  Mentor. 

One  of  the  most  helpful  friends  of  those  early 
days  was  a  man  who  was  commonly  regarded  as 
having  himself  made  a  colossal  failure  in  life.  That 
was,  perhaps,  true,  if  the  dimensions  of  his  failure 
were  measured  solely  by  the  amount  of  material  for 
success  which  he  possessed  at  starting,  but  which 
he  apparently  builded  only  into  a  heap  of  debris. 

My  friend  came  of  the  most  virile  brain  stock  in 
America.  One  of  his  near  relatives  has  honored  his 
inheritance  by  gaining  almost  the  biggest  plume  in 
our  romance  literature.  Another  was  known  seas- 
over  as  a  philoso]3her,  having  as  crystalline  a  mind 
as  ever  worked  through  the  mud  of  metaphysics. 


OUT  m  THE  WORLD  189 

In  tliis  distinguished  family  my  friend  had  himself 
been  the  "  young  hopeful." 

He  was  an  honor-man  in  college.  He  began  his 
career  as  a  preacher,  but  was  too  erratic  for  his 
fraternity,  too  abstruse  in  style  for  the  crowd, 
and  because  of  his  eccentricities  utterly  misunder- 
standable  by  the  community.  Fortunately  he  mar- 
ried a  fortune.  Such  jjersons  ought  to  be  born  to 
wealth  or  else  esi)ouse  it,  otherwise  they  would 
starve. 

He  soon  dropped  all  professional  obligations, — or 
rather  they  dropped  away  from  him.  He  retired  to 
his  Tusculum,  read  omnivorously  and  digested  the 
pabulum  of  the  world's  thinking  like  an  intellectual 
mastodon.  He  Avas  a  walking  encycloptsedia,  and  as 
keen  and  judicious  a  critic  as  I  have  ever  known. 

He  used  to  visit  me  once  a  week.  How  I  wel- 
comed that  big  Gladstonian  head  and  those  Dar- 
winian eyebrows  as  they  thrust  themselves  into  my 
library !  He  would  throw  himself  unceremoniously 
into  my  biggest  armchair,  just  for  the  sake  of  sav- 
ing me  the  trouble  of  offering  it  to  him.  He  would 
then  pull  up  another  chair  for  his  feet,  mop  his  big 
forehead — for  he  was  always  literally  hot-headed 
even  on  zero  days.  Then  he  would  open  the  sluice- 
way, and  give  me  a  reservoirful  of  what  he  had 
stored  in  his  mind  during  the  last  seven  days. 

Perhaps  he  would  throw  a  book  upon  my  table. 
"  I  have  brought  you  something  worth  knowing. 
It  would  take  you  a  month  to  read  all  this  stuff  with 
all  your  other  work.    Don't  try  to.     I  will  just  give 


190  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

you  the  gist  of  the  matter  in  five  minutes,  if  you 
don't  interrupt  me.  I  have  turned  down  the  leaves 
where  you  ought  to  read  yourself.  Chapter  nine 
is  splendid.  Skip  the  next  fifty  pages.  They  are 
hash.  I'll  take  the  book  next  time  I  come.  I  want 
you  as  a  youngster  to  get  it  while  it  is  hot,  and 
while  j)eople  are  talking  about  it.  You  Imow  that 
we  waste  half  our  intellectual  existence  by  post- 
j)oning  the  mastery  of  subjects  until  we  have  more 
time.  We  never  get  any  more  time  than  we  delib- 
erately preempt  because  of  some  necessity.  Time 
is  sucked  out  of  the  breast  of  eternity  by  the  mouth- 
ful. There  is  never  any  to  spare.  As  life  goes  on, 
unless  paresis  sets  in,  the  more  the  brain  finds  it 
must  do  if  it  would  keep  its  own  respect.  Leisure ! 
Belts  of  calm  where  there  is  no  sailing.  When  you 
strike  leisure  you  had  better  sink.  Most  people  do. 
AVhat  you  acquire  rajjidly  under  the  spell  and  spur 
of  the  high  seas  will  serve  you  best." 

Sometimes  we  would  walk  together  like  Mentor 
and  Telemachus.  Ah,  those  hours  with  my  peri- 
patetic philosopher!  We  went  down  the  avenue, 
across  the  ferry,  into  the  country.  Neither  a 
crowd  nor  a  scene  less  interesting  than  a  murder 
could  jostle  him  off  his  centre  when  once  fairly 
astride  a  theme. 

"  My  boy,"  he  would  say,  gripping  my  arm  and 
my  attention  tightly,  "  my  boy,  be  an  independent 
thinker, — ^that  is,  after  you  have  thoroughly  read 
the  best  that  other  people  have  thought  about  a 
subject;  but  not  before,  or  you  will  find  yourself 


OUT  IN  THE  WORLD  191 

like  a  bird  trying  to  fly  with  one  feather.  Think 
about  what  the  world  is  thinking  about.  You  will 
find  yourself  as  useless  as  a  mole  if  you  follow  only 
your  own  head  in  choosing  your  way." 

A  medieval  saint  once  said  to  another,  "  I  put  my 
soul  within  your  soul."  My  friend  was  perhaps  not 
of  the  kind  to  give  love  and  life  for  another.  His 
retirement  from  the  work  of  the  community  showed 
that  he  was  too  self-absorbed  for  self-sacrifice. 
But  he  did  put  into  my  brain  some  fine  scraps  of 
his  own  scholarship,  some  rare  bits  of  critical  wis- 
dom, many  ideas  always  erudite  though  sometimes 
fantastic.  He  was  at  least  a  Platonic  lover  of  my 
soul.  That  is  all  that  Virgil  was  to  Dante.  If 
my  friend  took  me  down  into  some  purgatorial 
depths  of  doubt  he  never  left  me  there  without  at 
least  his  own  bright  interpretations  of  the  curious 
shapes  I  saw  among  the  shadows. 

A  Tumhle  and  Rebound. 

For  some  years  the  sun  shone  brightly  for  me, 
and  obeying  the  ancient  maxim  I  hastened  to  make 
hay,  and  supposed  that  I  had  securely  garnered 
it. 

As  I  now  review  the  years  I  find  that  the  real 
mile-stones  of  life  are  not  outward  events,  however 
exciting  and  important  we  may  have  regarded  them 
at  the  time,  but  rather  the  inward  experiences  pro- 
duced by  these  events — or  more  likely  by  minor 
happenings.  I  now  judge  those  halcyon  days,  when 
the  whole  world  seemed  to  revolve  in  time  with  my 


192  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

pulse-beats,  to  have  been  less  significant,  and  cer- 
tainly less  helpful,  than  darker  times.  The  biggest 
stones  don't  go  into  steeples  and  minarets.  In 
showy  life  there  is  no  broadening  and  deepening  of 
foundations. 

So  I  found  it.  While  a  commanding  position 
gave  me  a  larger  view  of  the  world,  and  an  ample 
arena  drew  out  many  energies  that  an  humbler 
sphere  of  endeavor  Avould  not  have  developed,  I  now 
see  that  my  personality  was  being  narrowed.  I 
suspected  myself  of  harboring  that  meanest  of  all 
the  parasites  that  nest  themselves  on  a  human  soul, 
an  aristocratic  feeling.  I  began  to  look  upon  posi- 
tion as  belonging  to  my  natural  rank,  I  can  under- 
stand how  princes  come  to  think  themselves  as  in- 
vested with  some  divine  right;  and  how  readily 
millionaires  usurp  the  i)laces  of  the  "  meek  who 
shall  inherit  the  earth."  As  my  purse  expanded 
my  sympathies  shrank.  My  honors  so  glared  in  my 
eyes  that  the  haloes  of  better  people  were  not  so 
evident. 

But  Providence  carries  a  whip  for  "  the  proud 
man's  contumely  "  and  the  "  insolence  of  office." 
An  enterprise  into  which  I  had  put  my  best  talent 
(and  my  biggest  conceit)  suddenly  toppled.  I  was 
made  to  realize  that  man's  fortune  is  built  on  an 
earthquake  belt,  and  that  only  souls  with  wings 
can  securely  rise  from  the  demolition  made  by  that 
titanic  power  known  in  Christendom  as  "  the  god 
of  this  world."  I  discovered  that  I  must  grow  some 
new  qualities  of  soul,  some  virtues  that  had  in  them 


OUT  m  THE  WORLD  193 

a  levitating  force,  if  I  would  escape  the  wreckage 
of  life. 

To  this  resolve  my  wife  helped  me.  Her  cheer- 
fulness exorcised  my  vexation  with  myself  and  my 
wrath  at  others.  Her  smile  at  it  all — back  of  which 
was  her  deeper  intelligence  of  things — dissipated 
my  disgruntableness,  as  the  sun  draws  up  the  mists 
and  fogs  from  off  the  marshes. 

After  about  a  year  spent  in  contemplation  of  my 
ruins,  lamenting  the  fallen  columns  and  marred 
statuary,  I  metaphorically  put  the  whole  heap  of  it 
into  the  lime  furnace,  cleared  the  ground  and  began 
again.  Taking  account  of  my  real  stock — which 
is  always  inside  and  not  outside  one — I  discovered 
that  I  had  not  been  hurt  at  all.  I  discounted  my 
own  moral  paper,  charged  things  up  honestly  in 
the  columns  of  profit  and  loss,  pronounced  myself 
to  be  decidedly  solvent,  and  opened  a  new  set  of 
books — a  system  of  double  entry  which  I  commend 
to  all  young  men — namely,  First,  Myself  in  account 
with  the  World;  second.  Myself  in  account  with 
Myself  (including  my  wife,  whom  I  retained  as 
special  partner  in  all  matters  of  conscience  and 
duty). 

Now  I  can  say  with  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra : 

"What  I  aspired  to  be, 
And  was  not,  comforts  me. ' ' 

My  mishap  had  done  nothing  more  than  blow  the 
shucks  off  the  real  corn.  As  I  think  of  tie  petty 
pomposities  and  prides  of  life  engendered  by  mere 


194  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

outward  prosperity,  I  am  reminded  of  an  orange 
tree  that  stood  on  my  neighbor's  front  lawn.  I 
wondered  how  it  grew  such  luscious-looking  fruit  in 
our  rigorous  northern  climate.  A  high  wind  dis- 
closed the  secret.  After  the  blow  had  passed,  the 
ground  was  littered  with  oranges,  each  one  with  a 
hairpin  for  its  stem.  Our  showy  estate  is  only 
something  stuck  on  to  us.  It  doesn't  grow  out  of 
our  very  selves,  and  its  loss  really  takes  nothing 
from  us.  Adversities  are  God's  stone-colored  doves. 
They  bring  as  many  blessings  as  the  white  ones. 

Near  one  of  our  homes  was  a  great  marsh.  It 
was  observed  that  the  water  bubbled  up  through  the 
mud  and  rushes,  instead  of  draining  away  in  the 
ground.  Wise  men  took  the  hint.  The  spot  Avas 
converted  into  a  reservoir,  and  for  a  generation 
supplied  the  town  with  sweet  water.  If  I  should 
ever  be  reincarnated  with  my  present  consciousness 
and  memory,  and  set  to  live  again  on  the  earth,  I 
should  be  inclined  to  invest  in  certain  marsh-lands, 
that  is,  in  disappointments  with  the  bright  bubbles 
in  them  as  the  best  paying  stocks.  As  I  may  not 
return,  I  cheerfully  give  the  "  points "  to  my 
younger  friends. 


vm 

MEN  AND  MEN 

'' What  is  Man?  " 

HOW  quickly  the  most  kindly  huinan  feeling 
can  be  turned  into  deadliest  hate !  When 
I  began  to  write  these  reminiscences  one- 
half  of  the  civilized  world  was  in  as  ferocious 
grapple  with  the  other  half  as  were  ever  two  bull- 
dogs. Yet,  a  few  months  since,  we  were  burning 
the  incense  of  our  boasted  new  hmnanity  in  the 
temple  of  peace  at  the  Hague.  The  brute  in  us  is 
so  untamed  by  our  culture  that  at  any  moment  in 
the  ilush  of  hot  blood  it  will  tear  with  its  claws  what 
it  has  been  holding  in  the  most  velvety  embrace. 
Lord  Bryce  can  hardly  be  disputed  when  he  de- 
clares that  in  native  disposition  we  are  unchanged 
from  the  men  of  the  Stone  Age. 

A  counterbalancing  fact  is  that  men  may  as  sud- 
denly drop  their  hatreds  at  the  suggestion  of  mutual 
interest,  if  not  at  the  touch  of  a  higher  Spirit  ( I  in- 
tentionally capitalize  the  word  Spirit)  which  is 
ready  to  invade  humanity  from  without  and  above. 
To  this  conviction  I  was  led  by  a  series  of  incidents 
that  greatly  impressed  me  as  I  was  starting  in  life. 

In  the  winter  immediately  following  the  Civil 

195 


196  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

War  I  was  a  passenger  on  a  small  steamer  going 
down  tlie  Potomac.  A  sudden  cold  snap  had 
blocked  the  river  with  ice.  As  we  could  not  go  for- 
ward it  was  necessary  to  keep  the  boat  in  a  con- 
stant side-swinging  motion,  else  we  should  be  held 
fast  in  the  rapidly  freezing  water.  The  x)assengers 
were  arranged  in  a  long  line,  and  rushed  quickly 
back  and  forth  across  the  deck  to  keep  the  craft 

rocking.     General  ,  a  noted  Union  officer, 

commanded  at  one  end,  while  the  redoubtable  Ex- 
Confederate  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  who  had 
recently  given  his  sword  to  Sherman,  played  cor- 
poral at  the  other.  Johnston,  the  rebel,  would  cry, 
^'  Forward,  boys,  for  the  Union !  "  as  we  dashed  to 
starboard.  "About  face!  Now  for  a  regular 
Pickett's  charge  at  Gettysburg !  "  shouted  the  Union 
officer  as  we  rushed  to  port.  A  jollier  or  more 
congenial  crowd  never  met.  After  all,  I  thought, 
the  man  in  us  is  bigger  than  the  brute  in  us.  It 
will  leap  as  quickly,  and,  being  more  persistent,  will 
dominate  in  the  end.  That  conviction  is  abundantly 
confirmed  now,  as  I  recall  the  four  years  of  the 
Civil  War  and  the  half  century  of  peace  that  has 
followed. 

The  next  Sunday  after  this  episode  I  worshipped 
in  the  old  Presbyterian  Church  of  Richmond.  The 
edifice  was  as  sad  a  reminder  as  any  shot-torn 
battle-flag.  The  walls  were  stained  with  many  a 
leak.  Patches  of  plaster  were  pendant  like  the 
scabs  of  already  healed  wounds.  The  floor  was  un- 
carpeted;  the  pews  uncushioned  and  broken,  re- 


MEN  AND  MEN  197 

calling  the  fact  that  for  years  they  had  been  used 
for  hospital  beds  for  thousands  of  wounded  men. 
Hymn-books  and  Bibles  were  torn  and  coverless, 
suggesting  the  wadding  used  at  the  battle  of  Spring- 
field in  the  Revolution,  where  brave  old  Dominie 
Caldwell  led  his  congregation  on  to  fight  with  his 
famous  "  Give  them  Watts,  boys ! "  Some  of  the 
leading  men  of  Richmond  were  arrayed  in  "  butter- 
nut "  cloaks,  made  of  old  army  blankets  by  cutting 
slits  for  the  heads  and  arms. 

The  pastor,  Dr.  Moses  D.  Hoge,  a  man  who  had 
lost  none  of  the  respect  of  the  North  by  his  fidelity 
to  his  Southern  flock,  was  in  the  pulpit.  At  the 
close  of  his  sermon  he  made  an  appeal  for  the 
repair  of  the  edifice.  My  Northern  companion  on 
the  trip,  who  for  four  years  had  been  as  good  a 
hater  of  the  Confederacy  as  any  man  with  "  blood 
in  his  eye,"  emptied  his  pocketbook  into  the  col- 
lection-box, and  accompanied  his  donation  with  an 
additional  pledge  written  on  a  blank  leaf  of  a  letter 
he  had  in  his  ^Docket.  I  never  worshipped  God  with 
more  heartiness,  as,  without  a  word  of  bitterness 
or  complaint  for  the  Lost  Cause,  the  preacher  led 
our  devotions  in  a  prayer  to  the  Prince  of  Peace. 
The  new  loyalty — that  of  man  to  man — had  already 
conquered  the  hated  war-spirit,  and  I  thought  only 
of  Him  whose  "  banner  over  us  is  love." 

After  service,  although  we  were  strangers  to 
every  one,  we  were  most  cordially  greeted.  With 
old-fashioned  hospitality  several  of  our  gray- 
cloaked  fellow-worshippers  accompanied  us  to  our 


198  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

hotel.  The  following  day  we  could  not  refuse  an 
invitation  to  dine  with  one  of  our  new-found 
friends.  The  white  silver  gleamed  from  the  mirror- 
like mahogany  as  in  Colonial  Days.  But  my  chair 
was  rickety,  and  the  walls  of  the  room  were  covered 
with  sadly  faded  imper,  relieved  only  by  some  family 
portraits  and  a  couple  of  Confederate  flags  that 
supported  the  mantel. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  thoughts — or,  rather,  my 
impressions,  for  I  could  not  think  distinctly — as 
the  next  day  I  sat  for  an  hour  in  the  ruins  of  the 
Confederate  "  Fort  Hell  "  at  Petersburg,  while  my 
companion  was  similarly  musing,  fifty  paces  away 
in  what  remained  of  the  Union  "  Fort  Damnation." 
On  comparing  notes  afterward  we  found  that  our 
themes  were  identical, — "  What  sort  of  a  creature 
is  man  anyhow?  " 

That  question  hooked  itself  into  me  with  a  barbed 
point  as  later  I  watched  the  masses  of  black  hu- 
manity, half -clothed  or  entirely  naked,  sunning  the 
shivers  out  of  their  flesh  like  so  many  pigs  in  mire, 
on  the  banks  of  the  James. 

What  is  man?  That  black  lump  curled  around  a 
hawser-post  on  the  dock  is  a  man.  So  he  is  only  a 
man  who  stands  yonder,  his  face  almost  tragic  with 
the  intensity  of  his  love,  his  eyes  deep-set  as  if  in- 
tent on  penetrating  to  the  heart  of  the  problem  that 
lay  wrapped  in  that  black  skin  of  the  slumbering 
hulk  at  which  he  was  gazing.  Armstrong  planning 
Hampton  was  only  a  man.  While  in  after  years 
addressing  audiences  at  Hampton  or  Tuskegee  my 


MEN  AND  MEN  199 

mind  lias  seemed  to  stand  still,  fascinated  by  that 
old  memory :  Armstrong  and  tlie  other  man ! 

So  now,  with  my  intelligence  almost  stunned  with 
the  problem  of  the  warring  nations,  I  cannot  drop 
my  faith  that  the  sense  of  fraternity  will  ultimately 
conquer  the  hates  of  mankind.  The  divine  in  man 
is  greater  than  the  beast,  although  it  may  take  deep 
cuttings  to  reveal  the  hearts  of  men  to  themselves. 

Men  Misunderstood, 

An  early  residence  was  at  the  capital  of  our 
State.  Among  our  familiar  neighbors  was  the 
household  of  the  Governor.  He  was  one  of  the 
deepest-brained  politicians  of  his  day.  Like  many 
men  of  his  craft  he  was  noted  for  his  self-control. 
His  face,  to  one  who  would  try  to  read  his  thoughts, 
was  as  immobile  as  an  iron  mask.  He  was  an 
ardent  partisan,  but  his  voice  never  vibrated  with 
the  intensity  of  jDassion  except  when  making  a  pub- 
lic address.  He  was  a  sort  of  political  Enceladus, 
who  lay  quietly  under  the  mountain  until  it  pleased 
him  to  shake  himself,  set  the  earth  quaking  and  the 
lava  running. 

The  Governor  one  day  showed  me  the  draft  of  a 
proclamation  of  Thanksgiving  he  was  about  to  issue 
for  the  fall  of  Richmond.  But  his  manner  evinced 
no  more  trace  of  jubilation  than  did  that  of  a  pro- 
Southern  minister  who  on  the  subsequent  Sunday 
had  to  read  it  to  his  congregation.  A  few  weeks 
later  I  was  awakened  before  dawn  by  a  summons  to 
the  Executive  Mansion.     The  Governor  sat  in  the 


200  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

main  hallway  wringing  his  hands  in  uncontrollable 
grief.  His  face  was  tear-stained,  and  marred  by  a 
night-long  anguish.  Seizing  my  hand  he  cried  like 
a  lost  child : 

"  Oh,  the  horror  of  it !  They  have  killed  our 
President !  They  have  struck  down  Abraham  Lin- 
coln !     Abraham  Lincoln !  " 

The  Governor's  wife  and  a  few  intimate  friends 
tried  in  vain  to  quiet  him.  In  that  inner  circle 
there  was  revealed  another  man  than  I  had  sus- 
pected to  be  in  him.  He  was  after  all  one  of 
deepest  sensibilities,  tenderest  sympathies  and 
passionate  love.  His  affection  for  his  Great  Chief 
was  tragic,  sacrificial,  self-immolating. 

But  a  startling  change  came  over  the  Governor. 
Prominent  citizens  began  to  pour  in.  Instantly  the 
iron  mask  was  again  on  his  features.  His  voice 
was  steadied  and  emotionless.  Turning  to  his 
private  secretary  he  said  in  a  business  tone : 

"  Countermand  the  Thanksgiving  Proclamation. 
Prepare  one  appointing  a  Day  of  Humiliation  and 
Prayer." 

To  his  Adjutant,  "  Better  leave  the  protection  of 
this  house  and  the  public  property  to  the  regular 
police.     Soldiers  about  it  might  alarm  the  i)eople." 

To  the  crowd  swarming  in,  "  Yes,  gentlemen,  the 
news  is  very  sad;  but  there  is  no  need  of  any  ex- 
cited feeling.  Please  go  home  and  quiet  your  neigh- 
borhoods." 

Some  one  in  the  crowd  passing  out  remarked, 
"  The  Governor  is  a  man  of  no  feeling.     Such  a 


MEN  AND  MEN  201 

day!  And  he  is  as  cool  as  au  iceberg.  No  doubt 
sclieming  his  advancement  to  a  job  higher  even 
through  this  awful  calamity." 

I  that  day  learned  a  lesson  that  has  been  of  great 
value  to  me  through  life;  namely,  not  to  gauge 
men's  characters  and  dispositions  by  their  formal 
actions.  Remembering  this,  I  have  made  many 
most  trustworthy  friends  of  those  whom  others 
distrust. 

I  once  lived  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  man  who 
was  called  the  Warwick  of  American  x^olitics.  He 
was  the  Boss  before  that  word  had  acquired  its  ugly 
commercial  taint.  Governors,  Senators,  Assembly- 
men and  contractors  were  supposed  to  live  by  him. 
The  raising  of  his  finger  was  as  potent  a  signal  for 
the  triumph  or  sacrifice  of  a  political  asjDirant  as 
was  the  "  Thumb  up  "  or  the  "  Thumb  down  "  of  the 
Roman  Emperor  at  the  arena.  If  vivisection  had 
revealed  a  bit  of  steel  mechanism  in  the  place  where 
his  heart  was  supposed  to  be,  it  would  have  con- 
firmed the  opinion  of  his  enemies. 

Being,  as  I  was,  not  a  political  adventurer,  but 
only  an  ordinary  neighbor,  I  discovered  in  this  man 
almost  a  womanly  tenderness.  I  had  frequent 
occasion  to  act  as  his  almoner  where  he  would  not 
have  his  charities  known,  lest  they  might  be  thought 
to  smack  of  some  political  intent.  He  was  patient, 
like  Job,  to  seek  out  the  causes  he  understood  not, 
that  his  benisons  might  not  be  bestowed  unworthily. 
If  his  political  jiosition  made  him  domineering,  his 
recreation  was  kindness.     My  choice  picture  of  this 


202  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

adamantine  man  is  one  photographed  on  my  mem- 
ory by  the  light  of  his  own  genial  face,  as  he  one  day 
held  the  hand  of  my  little  child  during  a  walk,  and 
entertained  him  with  grandfatherly  prattle,  while 
would-be  political  magnates  made  their  fawning 
obeisance  as  he  passed. 

I  was  once  reminded  of  this  man  as  I  watched 
General  Sherman,  the  hell-maker  in  Georgia.  He 
was  in  Tiffany's  store  in  New  York  and  lifted  in  his 
arms  a  tiny  girl  that  she  might  see  the  glories  that 
sparkled  in  the  cases  below.  The  old  warrior  was 
as  gleeful  as  the  child. 

Judge  I asked  me  to  be  with  him  one  morn- 
ing in  court.  He  had  to  pronounce  sentence  of 
death  on  a  horrible  murderer.  Crowds  in  the  street 
were  waiting  to  cheer  the  awful  words  when  it 
would  be  announced  to  them  that  the  villain  was 
judiciously  started  on  his  way  to  perdition.  The 
Judge  was  noted  as  one  of  the  most  remorseless 
defenders  of  justice.  On  the  bench  he  was  as  "  cool 
as  a  hangman."  After  the  sentence  he  retired  to 
his  anteroom,  and,  quivering  with  an  emotion  no 
sign  of  which  had  been  shown  on  the  bench,  he  said 
to  me,  "  I  wanted  you  to  be  with  me  to-day  as  a 
friend.  There  are  some  things  too  solemn  for  a 
man  to  do  alone.  It  had  to  be  done;  but  I  would 
rather  have  given  my  finger  to  the  flames  than  have 
uttered  those  words,  '  Hanged  by  the  neck  until 
dead.'     I  shall  not  sleep  for  a  week." 

In  my  directory  of  elite  souls  I  have  the  names 
of  a  number  whom  I  call  my  "  good  hypocrites  " ; 


MEN  AND  MEN  203 

men  and  wonicu  who  hide  their  virtues  as  others 
hide  their  vices.  Indeed,  I  believe  in  the  sub- 
cutaneous kindness  of  most  people.  If  "  beauty  is 
only  skin  deep,"  so  is  ugliness.  Those  from  whom 
we  expect  the  least  may  give  us  most.  Simonides' 
warning  about  the  ill-armed  knight  at  the  tourna- 
ment is  often  timely : 

*  *  Opinion 's  but  a  fool  who  makes  us  scan 
The  outward  habit  for  the  inner  man. ' ' 

While  I  am  in  an  old  man's  garrulous  mood  let 
me  parenthesize  an  incident  or  two,  for  my  memory 
is  as  full  of  them  as  the  old  chestnut  tree  out  yonder 
is  full  of  burrs  with  the  mahogany  nuts  inside  of 
them. 

Mr.  C ,  the  head  of  a  large  mercantile  busi- 
ness, was  a  stern  disciplinarian.  His  heavy  eye- 
brows and  flashing  black  eyes  were  the  terror  of  any 
delinquent  in  his  employ.  He  once  informed  me 
that  some  one  in  his  office,  he  could  not  tell  who, 
was  dishonest.  He  was  advised  to  engage  a  de- 
tective, and  ferret  out  the  culprit.  After  a  few 
days  the  police  agent  announced  that  he  was  near 
to  the  offender ;  another  day  would  have  him  in  the 
toils.  The  employer  said  to  me,  "  I  propose  to  dis- 
miss the  detective.  I  will  pursue  the  matter  alone 
from  this  point." 

On  my  expressing  surprise  he  said,  "  I  am  un- 
willing that  a  mere  police  agent,  who  presumably 
has  no  human  interest  in  the  case,  should  know  the 
guilty  party.     Maybe  he  is  some  young  fellow  who 


204  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

is  in  his  first  temptation.  A  stranger's  knowledge 
of  his  guilt  might  ruin  him ;  it  might  be  a  blackmail 
club  in  future  years.  But  if  I  find  him  out  by  my- 
self, I  may  be  able  to  help  him.     Who  knows?  " 

Mr.  C himself  took  up  the  clues,  and  suc- 
ceeded. He  never  revealed  the  personality  of  the 
offender  to  me.  "  Just  to  think  of  it ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "One  of  my  boys — my  office  boys!  Why, 
I  love  those  fellows  as  if  they  were  my  own  chil- 
dren. I  have  taught  them  the  business.  I  would 
have  promoted  this  very  man." 

He  sent  for  the  culjirit.  When  charged  with  his 
guilt,  the  man  made  frank  and  full  confession ;  then 
bowed  his  head  on  the  desk  and  moaned,  "  Oh,  my 
wife !    My  wife !  " 

Mr.  C assured  him  that  so  far  his  crime  was 

known  only  to  himself  and  God,  and  that  there  was 
no  need  that  even  his  wife  should  ever  know  of  it. 
He  accompanied  the  young  man  to  his  home  that 
night,  fearing,  as  he  told  me,  that  the  tragedy  in  his 
soul  might  find  some  expression  in  his  manner. 
He  afterward  became  their  frequent  visitor.  He 
learned  incidentally  that  the  wife  supposed  that 
their  income  was  much  larger  than  it  really  was, 
and  had  not  i)racticed  economy.  When  she  dis- 
covered the  exact  size  of  the  family  purse  she 
showed  a  marvellous  skill  in  domestic  science,  and 
made  both  ends  meet  without  the  loss  of  a  crumb  of 
comfort. 

When  I  expressed  to  Mr.  C my  amazement 

at  his  method  of  dealing  with  the  case,  he  bent  upon 


MEN  AND  MEN  205 

me  those  Sinaitic  eyebrows  as  he  said,  "  You  and 
I  are  Christians ;  and  isn't  that  the  way  the  Great 
Master  has  dealt  with  us  sinners?  He  finds  us  out, 
and  lays  the  charge  of  sin  right  before  our  con- 
science, but,  at  the  same  time,  He  shields  us.  Why, 
even  God  Himself  doesn't  know — that  is.  He  for- 
gets— our  iniquities." 

Yet  Mr.  C was  generally  regarded  as  an  al- 
most harshly  just  man ;  one  who  had  only  withering 
scorn  for  every  sort  of  iniquity;  true  salt  of  the 
earth,  but  with  overmuch  of  jiungency  in  it ;  a  light 
of  the  world,  no  doubt,  but  with  the  heat  element 
in  the  flame  somewhat  exaggerated.  How  wrong 
that  estimate ! 

Reputations  Often  Mislahels. 

I  have  found  the  same  mistake  in  the  popular 
judgment  of  men  of  great  benevolence,  Avho  have 
been  thought  to  be  close  and  selfish.  In  collecting 
a  fund  for  a  certain  charity  I  was  warned  not  to 

waste  time  with  Mr.  D ,  so  I  passed  him  by  in 

my  solicitations.  But  the  gentleman  himself  called 
upon  me,  and  without  so  much  as  the  mildest  hint 
on  my  part  volunteered  the  largest  sum  in  the  entire 
contribution. 

"Andy  W is  as  close  as  a  wrapped  mummy, 

but  the  shrewdest  stock  speculator  we  have,"  was 
the  way  my  friend  Z  spoke  of  him.  One  day  I  was 
sitting  in  the  latter's  office  when  Andy  came  in. 

"  Say,  Z,  I  want  you  to  go  into  this  copper  deal 
with  me." 


206  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

"All  right,  Andy.     But  just  what  is  your  game?  " 

"  Only  this,"  replied  the  hard-hearted  man; ''  you 
know  they  want  a  new  wing  to  the  hospital.  If 
we  lose  on  this  spec,  we  will  say  nothing  about  it. 
But  if  w^e  win,  we  will  give  one-half  of  the  swag  to 
the  hospital.     What  do  you  say?  " 

Z  said  nothing. 

"  They  said  "  that  Mr.  R had  the  habit  of 

picking  up  pins.  His  vest-ends  were  full  of  them. 
That  he  shaved  his  new-born  chickens  for  the  sake 
of  their  down.     But  many  a  time  he  has  talked  to 

me  like   this : — "  You,  ,   know   more   about 

local  charities  than  I  do.  Here's  a  ten  (or,  per- 
haps, it  was  a  twenty  or  a  fifty) ,  Some  pickpocket 
must  have  left  it  there  in  my  pocket  when  trying  to 
rob  me.  Just  drop  it  where  it  will  do  the  most 
good.  No !  No !  No  accounting  for  it,  or  I  won't 
give  you  any  more." 

Mr.  X  had  built  quite  a  palatial  residence.  A 
chronic  complainer  pointed  it  out  with  some  re- 
mark about  the  lazy  rich.  I  was  glad  to  reply, 
"  You  know  it  was  X  who  stayed  all  night  with 
poor  W ,  Avlien  he  died  doAvn  at  the  police  sta- 
tion where  thev  took  him  after  the  accident." 

The  conversation  changed. 

"  As  people  say,"  said  a  neighbor,  "  Mr.  L is 

hard-flsted.  I  once  tried  to  get  the  better  of  him  in 
a  deal,  but  he  skin-flinted  me.  Yet  when  I  was  in 
hot  water,  and  the  financial  hair  scalded  off  me, 
L offered  to  loan  me  |10,000  without  security." 

I  wish  my  memory  would  catch  only  such  inci- 


MEN  AND  MEN  207 

dents;  but  unfortunately  it  hooks  onto  some  un- 
savory fish. 

The  Hon.  was  president  of  a  huge  cor- 

IDoration  which  employed  thousands  of  men  in  the 
lowland  marshy  suburbs  of  one  of  our  cities.  The 
distress  of  these  workmen,  most  of  whom  received 
the  lowest  wages  while  the  company  w^as  boasting  of 
its  dividends,  was  so  terrible  as  to  excite  the  pity 
of  the  entire  community.  As  chairman  of  a  certain 
benevolent  commission  it  became  my  duty  to  corre- 
spond with  the  magnate.  He  rej^lied  to  me  most 
graciously  and  patronizingly.  He  even  cited  the 
parable  of  the  Good  Samaritan  to  show  the  high 
Christian  motives  which  inspired  him.  It  was  a 
great  comfort  for  him  to  think  that  he  had  always 
taken  care  of  his  needy  neighbors.  No  one  whom 
he  knew  was  ever  turned  away  from  his  door.  But 
those  people  whom  I  had  referred  to,  he  said,  were 
not  his  neighbors.  He  didn't  know  one  of  them. 
His  home  was  not  in  those  suburban  swamps. 
Thank  God!     He  lived  among  the  delightful  hills 

of  County.     Wouldn't  I  come  up  and  see 

him? 

This  man's  idea  of  neighborly  duty  was  that  it 
was  limited  to  his  porter  at  the  lodge,  his  guests, 
and  a  handful  of  wistful-eyed  children  who  wished 
him  a  Merry  Christmas.  The  thousands  who  toiled 
for  him  in  the  reeks  and  damps,  whose  lives  were 
held  by  him  as  truly  as  if  in  rural  savagery  he 
grasped  their  scalp-locks,  who  fattened  him  with 
their  blood, — these  were  not  his  neighbors! 


208  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

I  did  not  go  to  visit  him.  I  am  sure  that  his 
delicious  viands  would  have  choked  me. 

But  another  incident  in  this  same  collection  cam- 
paign took  away  the  bad  taste  left  in  my  mouth  by 
this  man's  invitation. 

A  day  or  two  later  I  was  strangely  moved  to  call 

upon  Mr.  J .     I  knew  of  no  special  appeal  that 

my  pet  charity  could  make  to  him  except  the  far- 
fetched one  that  its  work  was  done  in  the  State 
where  he  resided.  But  those  who  would  collect  for 
charity  soon  learn  that  they  must  thrash  all  waters, 
and  let  their  line  drift  into  all  sorts  of  unpromising 
holes. 

"  That's  so,"  said  Mr.  J ,  when  I  broached 

the  subject.  "  That's  so ;  we  must  stand  together 
in  these  matters.  There  are  so  few  of  us  who  ap- 
preciate the  want  about  us  that  unless  we  act  there 
will  be  a^'ful  suffering  this  winter.  I  thank  you 
for  calling  to  tell  me  how  I  might  help.  Sorry  that 
I  have  so  little.  If  this  check  for  five  thousand  will 
be  of  service  you  may  take  it;  but  only  on  one  con- 
dition, namely,  that  you  will  be  just  as  frank  with 
me  in  letting  me  know  of  future  need  in  the  same 
direction." 

Such  men  as  this  latter  are  the  real  support  of 
almost  all  our  public  charities. 

Yet  some  dribbles  come  from  other  hands.     My 

friend,  Professor ,  was  out  soliciting  for  an 

endowment  fund  of  some  sort  which  was  needed  in 

his  university.     He  was  directed  to  Mr. ,  say 

Jones  of  Cedar  Street.     "  You  will  find  him  some- 


MEN  AND  MEN  209 

what  eccentric,  but  very  liberal,  and  especially  fond 
of  your  college,  I  think." 

The  following  day  the  Professor  returned.  "  Ec- 
centric !  I  shouRl  say  so.  I  couldn't  get  a  polite 
word  out  of  him." 

"  Try  him  again,"  was  the  advice,  "  Perhaps  he 
is  only  testing  your  patience  to  see  what  sort  of  a 
beggar  you  are." 

The  Professor  made  another  attack,  determined 
to  be  persistent.  He  succeeded.  "  There,"  said  he, 
"  that's  fine !  "  throwing  a  check  for  a  thousand  on 
the  table.  "  But  I'd  as  soon  pick  the  teeth  of  a 
snapping-turtle  as  to  tackle  such  a  job  again.  Ec- 
centric! Why,  he  is  the  most  blasphemous  man 
I've  ever  run  up  against." 

"  Impossible !  Impossible,  my  friend !  Mr.  Jones 
is  the  chairman  of  our  Y.  M.  C.  A.  devotional  com- 
mittee. Let  me  look  at  that  check.  ^  Simon  C. 
Jones ! '  You've  got  on  to  the  wrong  man.  You've 
struck  that  diamond  dealer  in  Cedar  Street.  A 
thousand  dollars  from  him  for  a  Christian  Uni- 
versity !  Oh,  yes,  we  will  tell  that  in  Gath.  How 
did  you  do  it?  " 

"  Why,  I  remembered  what  you  said  about  his 
being  peculiar,  but  all  right  in  heart.  So  I  just 
sat  there  until  he  thawed  out.     After  a  while  he 

scowled  at  me.     '  Take  that,  and  go  to with 

your  college.'  I  took  it,  but  didn't  go  where  he 
directed  me.  T  came  to  you.  Can't  you  add  a  five 
hundred?  I'll  sit  it  out  with  you  even  if  you  swear 
at  me." 


210  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAT 

Ohatinacy  or  Wide-eyedness? 

I  early  found  in  my  intellectual  make-up,  or  in 
my  chronic  disposition,  something  that  would  prob- 
ably prevent  my  ever  being  very  popular.  While  I 
always  tried  not  to  be  disagreeable  to  others  I  made 
no  effort  to  agree  with  them  in  their  oijinions.  In- 
deed, the  fact  that  "  everybody  was  saying  so  '^ 
made  me  shut  my  mouth,  unless  I  opened  it  in  ques- 
tioning the  common  notion. 

Possibly  this  was  somewhat  due  to  stubbornness, 
but  I  may  be  pardoned  if  I  pass  a  less  harsh  judg- 
ment upon  myself.  I  was  given  to  halting  my 
opinion  upon  almost  any  subject  until  the  other 
side  was  heard  from,  and,  if  there  were  no  other 
side  in  immediate  evidence,  to  tentatively  make  one. 
Thus  I  tried  to  test  the  strength  of  a  proposition, 
as  they  do  a  force  in  physics,  by  the  amount  of 
resistance  it  can  overcome. 

Now,  if  one  aims  to  be  a  mere  philosopher,  taking 
no  part  in  passing  human  affairs,  but  only  studying 
them  as  an  astronomer  watches  the  stars,  this  habit 
of  mind  might  be  commended.  It  is  certainly  in- 
teresting. But  it  will  not  do  for  one  who  must 
make  his  way  with  the  throng,  and  who  needs  the 
help  of  popular  momentum  to  reach  his  destination. 
It  will  be  especially  disastrous  to  any  one  who 
covets  present  leadership  among  his  fellows.  That 
requires  that  he  "  keep  his  ear  to  the  ground  "  to 
detect  the  way  the  host  may  be  tramping;  an  ex- 
ploit that  I  fear  my  ears  are  not  long  enough  to 
^  accomplish. 


MEN  AND  MEN  211 

I  maintain,  however,  that  the  attitude  of  judi- 
ciously— that  means  slowly — inspecting  all  proposi- 
tions from  both  front  and  rear  is  the  duty  of 
educated  men  who  aspire  to  be  most  helpful  in  the 
long  run  to  the  community,  the  school,  the  sect  or 
the  party  to  which  they  belong.  It  makes  the  dif- 
ference between  a  statesman  and  a  mere  politician, 
a  thinker  and  an  advocate,  a  scholar  and  a  dogma- 
tizer,  a  true  preacher  and  a  babbler  of  "smooth 
things,"  a  prophet  and  a  time-server ;  although  one 
Avho  adopts  the  better  role  should  make  up  his  mind 
to  w^ait  patiently  for  only  posthumous  recognition. 

I  was  not  a  trimmer;  for  I  was  never  on  both 
sides  at  once.  A  friend  who  proved  his  friendship 
by  giving  me  "  faithful  wounds "  perhaps  came 
nearer  the  truth  when  in  a  nettled  mood  he  said  I 
was  mulish;  for  one  never  knows  how  much  of  his 
quadrupedal  ancestral  stuff  may  still  be  unelimi- 
nated  from  his  spinal  marrow. 

My  early  grubbing  through  the  history  of  phi- 
losophy, of  science,  of  religion  with  its  multitudi- 
nous parasites,  and  of  whatever  pertains  to  the 
growth  of  the  thought- weed  in  the  human  brain, 
made  me  suspicious  of  popular  notions  whether 
they  attained  the  dignity  of  creeds  or  were  only 
fads.  "  Vox  Populi "  has  often  been  a  landslide 
stopped  or  diverted  too  late  by  the  rock-rib  of 
"  sober  second  thoughts  "  among  the  wise.  When  I 
was  a  wee  tot  I  deliberately  broke  one  of  our  family 
heirlooms ;  and,  since  "  the  child  is  father  of  the 
man,"  I  must  have  inherited  an  iconoclastic  bent 


212  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

to  smash  what  Bacon  called  Idols  of  the  Tribe,  the 
Den,  the  Forum  and  the  Theatre. 

I  lived  in  an  Abolitionist  community,  and  was 
well  cudgelled  for  my  lack  of  humanity  in  main- 
taining that  John  Brown  was  not  more  than  forty- 
nine  per  cent,  right  in  making  the  Harper's  Ferry 
raid  upon  the  peaceful  citizens  of  Virginia. 

I  was  not  a  Democrat,  but  won  the  local  reputa- 
tion of  being  a  Copi)erhead  by  suggesting  that 
McClellan  should  be  credited  with  the  victory  of 
Antietam. 

I  could  not  have  been  elected  a  pound-keeper 
after  having  publicly  expressed  an  opinion  that  the 
Carpetbaggers  in  the  South  were  really  carrying 
political  and  social  dynamite  instead  of  copies  of 
Magna  Charta  for  distribution  among  the  Blacks. 

While  Garfield  was  lying  mortally  wounded  at 
Elberon  I  attended  an  indignation  meeting  called 
to  damn  the  name  of  the  assassin  Guiteau.  The  fire 
of  popular  wrath  as  it  found  vent  from  the  mouths 
of  several  speakers  was  insanely  diverted  into  a 
lava  stream  of  curses  for  the  New  York  Senators 
who  opj)osed  Garfield's  purpose  to  keep  all  patron- 
age in  the  hands  of  the  Executive.  Then,  as  the 
fury  of  the  people  waxed  hotter  and  hotter,  as  that 
of  coals  when  closely  packed,  the  tide  of  vengeful 
oratory  was  headed  for  Vice-President  Arthur,  who 
in  the  event  of  the  death  of  the  martyr  would  be- 
come our  Chief  Executive.  When  I  was  called  upon 
for  a  speech  I  protested  against  this  personal 
cruelty  to  Mr.  Arthur,  and  suggested  the  unfairness 


MEN  AND  MEN  213 

and  danger  of  thus  creating  a  popular  prejudice 
adverse  to  the  administration  of  an  untried  man 
who  would  need  and  should  have  the  confidence  and 
support  of  the  nation  until  he  himself  should  forfeit 
it  by  unwise  action.  I  was  hissed  by  some  in  the 
crowd. 

In  these  special  cases  subsequent  events  showed 
that  I  was  at  least  an  infant  in  the  family  of  which 
it  is  said  "  wisdom  is  justified  of  its  children." 
But  there  were  other  matters  regarding  which 
judgment  may  still  be  suspended  as  to  whether  my 
stand  was  mere  obstinacy  or,  like  Balaam's  ass,  I 
may  have  really  seen  an  angel  in  the  way. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  this  habit  of  "  watchful 
waiting  "  until  one  sees  the  real  drift  of  facts  be- 
fore taking  a  public  stand  may  be  carried  too  far. 
There  are  issues  in  which  we  must  act  without  full 
information,  or  we  Avill  not  act  at  all.  A  bad  crop 
is  better  than  the  sterility  of  an  unsown  field. 
Napoleon  would  dr-ive  against  the  enemy,  and  cor- 
rect a  dozen  blunders  of  judgment  while  en  route. 
There  may  be  in  movements  for  reform  too  much 
"  Safety  First,"  as  in  Holland  they  make  a  guards- 
man walk  deliberately  ahead  of  all  trains  passing 
through  the  villages. 

But  I  remind  myself  of  the  fact  that  I  am  writing 
neither  a  history  nor  a  philosophy ;  only  the  gossip 
of  a  soul  trying  to  understand  itself  and  its  vary- 
ing moods  that  have  been  engendered  by  the  prick- 
ing of  outward  happenings.  For  my  own  good  I 
have  been,  perhaps,  too  slow  in  forming  my  judg- 


214  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

nients ;  have  tried  to  be  too  "  wide-eyed/'  to  borrow 
oue  of  Carlyle's  expressions,  and  attempted  to  see 
around  corners,  often  in  roads  that  I  was  not  called 
to  go.  But  I  could  not  help  it.  I  needed  "  blinders  " 
to  force  me  to  see  only  straight  ahead,  and  not  shy 
at  shadows  of  things  that  came  in  from  the  side. 

A  comrade  in  the  Adirondacks  comiDlained  of  the 
guide  who  was  building  the  dinner  fire  with  nothing 
but  brambles.  He  went  off  to  seek  better  wood. 
When  he  returned  with  a  goodly  load  the  dinner 
had  been  cooked — and  eaten!  Metaphorically  I 
have  sometimes  been  that  man. 


IX 

SOME  MYSTERIES 

A  Cloud  Over  the  House. 

FOR  some  years  our  home  had  known  of  sorrow 
only  as  the  youthful  Buddha  knew  it,  in- 
terpreting the  wild  music  of  the  wind- 
touched  silver  strings  stretched  across  the  gourd  on 
the  window-sill, — 

.     .     .     *'We  make  no  mirth, 
So  many  woes  we  see  in  many  lands, 
So  many  streaming  eyes  and  wringing  hands." 

But  at  length  the  inevitable  entered  our  door. 
Death  claimed  our  eldest  boy,  a  bright  lad  of 
thirteen. 

As  the  case  attracted  the  attention  of  medical 
scientists  at  the  time,  I  may  relate  some  par- 
ticulars regarding  it. 

For  many  weeks  the  lad  passed  through  the  vari- 
ous phases  of  what  was  diagnosed  to  be  meningitis 
down  to  what  seemed  to  all  at  the  moment  to  be  the 
fatal  end.  Then,  strangely,  from  the  very  brink  he 
came  back  to  apparent  health,  except  in  one  sad 
respect, — he  was  totally  blind.  Some  mysterious 
assault  of  the  terrible  disease  had  destroyed  the 
vitality  of  the  optic  nerve. 

215 


216  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

But  the  loss  of  outward  sight  was  partly  com- 
ponsated  by  a  marvellous  quickeuing  of  his 
mental  faculties.  He  especially  astonished  all  by 
his  feats  of  memory,  although  before  his  sickness 
he  had  been  the  ordinary  plodding  schoolboy.  So 
vividly  did  he  recall  jjlaces  and  things  that  he  had 
little  need  for  what  he  called  his  "  long  eye  " — a 
cane  which  he  carried  to  i^revent  his  striking 
against  obstacles.  His  sense  of  direction  was  as 
keen  as  that  discovered  in  the  homing  instinct  of 
birds  and  other  animals.  Whatever  from  earliest 
childhood  had  made  the  slightest  impression  ujion 
him  was  reproduced  with  the  accuracy  of  the  phono- 
graphic disk.  A  poem  of  some  length  which  he  had 
heard  but  once,  and  that  seven  years  before  as  a 
larger  scholar  had  declaimed  it,  was  repeated  with- 
out the  loss  of  a  word,  and  with  mimicry  of  the 
intonation  and  emphasis  of  the  original  speaker. 
Abstract  arguments  which  would  have  been  utterly 
unappreciated  before  his  affliction,  and,  indeed, 
which  I  myself  could  follow  only  with  closest  atten- 
tion, elicited  from  him  the  shrewdest  criticism.  At 
one  leap  he  had  mentally  covered  the  distance  be- 
tween childhood  and  manhood. 

The  phenomenon  attracted  the  attention  of  ex- 
perts. One  of  the  most  distinguished  of  these 
ascribed  it  to  the  abnormal  increase  of  the  tem- 
perature of  the  brain.  This  opinion  was  based  upon 
large  observation  of  similar  cases,  and  opened  a 
large  field  for  speculation.  May  genius  be  measured 
by  the  thermometer?     Edison  has  said  that  his  re- 


SOME  MYSTERIES  217 

markable  inventions  were  not  the  result  of  inspira- 
tion, but  rather  of  perspiration.  Did  he  refer  to 
brain-sweats  as  well  as  to  industry  in  research? 
Mahomet  we  knoAV  was  a  little  hot-headed.  So 
were  Bonaparte  and  Byron.  Shakesi^eare's  brain 
must  then  have  had  a  fever  furnace  at  its  base  to 
have  produced  such  a  variety  of  intellectual  values. 
Alienists  have  noted  different  degrees  of  heat  among 
the  different  phrenological  bumps  of  their  patients. 
May  this  account  for  certain  great  musicians, 
artists,  poets,  inventors,  who  in  respects  other  than 
that  of  their  one  peculiar  talent  were  positively 
lacking  in  mental  force  and  ordinary  moral  bal- 
ance? 

As  I  watched  my  boy,  walked  with  him  as  almost 
my  equal — for  I  could  lead  him  only  with  my  phys- 
ical, not  with  my  mental,  eye — I  felt  that  we  most 
commonplace  i^eople  are  lodged  on  the  brink  of  the 
preternatural,  and  that  a  very  little  thing  may  tip 
us  over  into  it.  Hence  clairvoyance,  medimnistic 
powers,  and  possibly  that  far  gaze  that  we  attribute, 
not  knowing  what  else  to  call  it,  to  inspiration. 

After  some  months  of  life  within  the  Border 
Land  our  child  passed  beyond,  and  was  lost  to  our 
sight  in  the  glow  of  the  Great  Horizon.  Several 
days  before  his  death  he  was  in  apparent  comatose 
condition.  He  was  deaf  to  all  sounds,  blind  to  all 
signs,  and  scarcely  responsive  to  touch.  Only  the 
throbbing  pulse  and  the  heaving  breast  indicated 
life. 

One  of  the  attendant  physicians  was  given  to 


218  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

materialistic  speculation.  He  and  I  were  quite 
intimate,  and  si)oke  together  in  utmost  frankness, 
so  that  there  was  nothing  obtrusive  in  our  conver- 
sation even  at  the  bedside  of  the  patient. 

"  Your  boy  is  now  practically  dead,"  said  he. 
"At  least  life  is  at  its  lowest  possible  ebb.  The 
physical  exhaustion  has  destroyed  consciousness. 
Heart-beats  now  mean  no  more  than  the  growth  of 
the  hair  after  death.  Nothing  vital  remains  to  him ; 
only  the  mechanism,  or  perhaps  the  chemistry,  of 
the  body  is  still  active.  Pardon  my  question;  but 
you  and  I  have  so  often  discussed  this  subject  that 
I  will  ask  it; — can  you  believe  that  when  the  last 
drop  of  the  physical  current  has  ebbed  away  he  will 
resume  consciousness?  You  may  be  right  in  be- 
lieving that  after  death  God  will  revive  the  soul. 
But  you  see,  speaking  scientifically,  that  it  must  be 
revivification,  and  not  continuance  of  life." 

The  physician  had  scarcely  gone  when  something 
occurred  that  gave  a  better  answer  to  his  query 
than  I  could  have  invented. 

The  child's  lips  moved.  His  mother's  ear  caught 
the  faintest  whisper — "  What  day?  " 

It  seemed  a  mere  illusion ;  but  the  words  were  re- 
peated distinctly.  Life  jjhysical  was  undoubtedly 
at  its  lowest  ebb,  but  the  soul  was  alert.  In  the 
long  dark,  soundless,  feelingless  interval  of  time  he 
had  had  no  means  of  keeping  count  of  the  days. 
Neither  dawn  nor  nightfall,  neither  morning  saluta- 
tion nor  good-night  kiss,  no  sensation  of  a  hand 
smoothing  his  brow  nor  the  taste  of  water  on  his 


SOME  MYSTEEIES  219 

lix^s,  liad  lielped  liim  mark  the  passing  time.  Yet  lie 
knew  that  it  had  passed;  and  while  we  were  dis- 
cussing his  unconscious  state  his  mind  had  been 
in  highest  consciousness,  watching  for  some  chance 
opening  of  the  shutters  of  the  senses  to  communi- 
cate with  us. 

How  could  we  answer  his  question?  He  could 
not  hear,  nor  see,  nor  was  his  body  responsive  to  the 
prick  of  a  needle.  While  we  were  pondering,  his 
mother  happened  to  press  quickly  a  spot  on  the  in- 
side of  his  hand.  The  faintest  smile  came  to  his 
face.  There  was  no  discernible  movement  of  his 
features,  only  a  soft  light  seemed  to  shine  through 
them  from  within.  I  cannot  describe  it ;  it  was  as 
if  the  soul  were  pure  light  and  had  briefly  returned 
and  looked  out  upon  us  from  his  face. 

He  repeated  the  question,  "  What  day?  "  and  as 
his  mother  pressed  his  hand  he  said  slowly,  taking 
time  to  recover  strength  after  each  syllable : 

"  One— Yes— Two— No." 

What  could  he  mean?  Mother's  quick  intuition 
solved  the  problem.  He  wished  her  to  signal  in  to 
him  through  pressures  of  the  hand. 

"  What  day?  Monday?  " 

Two  strokes — "  No !     Tuesday?  " 

Two  strokes — "  No !     Wednesday?  " 

Two  strokes — "  No !     Thursday?  " 

Two  strokes — "  No !     Friday?  " 

Two  strokes — "  No !     Saturday?  " 

One  stroke — "  Saturday !  New  Year  Day !  Happy 
New  Year ! " 


220  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

The  child  lingered  on  the  Border  Land  another 
day,  making  no  sign  except  at  the  very  last  when 
the  lips  were  laden  with  the  inherent  courtesy  of 
his  spirit,  and  he  whispered  the  word  "  Thanks !  " 
Then  he  fled  away. 

How  often  I  have  pondered  the  thought  "  Phys- 
ical life  at  the  lowest  ebb,  but  spirit  life  at  the 
flood!  "  Was  it  not  so?  The  boy,  in  his  blindness 
and  deafness  and  almost  total  lack  of  sensation, 
realized  that  he  was  shut  in  from  all  communica- 
tion with  the  outer  world  as  truly  as  was  ever  a 
prisoner  within  the  thick  walls  of  his  dungeon. 
He  discovered,  however,  that  there  was  one  tiny 
outlet  not  entirely  closed, — that  sensitiveness  of  his 
hand, — and  watched  it.  He  invented  an  alphabetic 
code  as  truly  as  Morse  did — and  invention  is  said 
to  be  the  highest  act  of  our  mental  faculties.  He 
signalled  his  queries,  and  got  his  answers.  His 
brave,  loving  heart  sent  out  its  warm  farewell  as 
the  sunset's  glow  noAV  comes  through  the  opening  in 
yonder  window  blind. 

"Physical  life  lowest;  mental  life  highest!" 
And  when  that  tiny  avenue  of  touch  was  closed  all 
life  vanished?     I  do  not  believe  it. 

Yet  I  am  aware  that  the  case  is  not  conclusive. 
If  I  were  disposed  to  rank  materialism,  and  espe- 
cially if  I  had  written  a  book  on  the  subject  and  was 
driven  by  the  pride  of  being  consistent,  I  could  raise 
some  debatable  questions.  But  not  being  a  mate- 
rialist I  gladly  turn  my  eyes  toward  the  light  that 
fills  yonder  Horizon,  in  which  I  last  saw  my  child, 


SOME  MYSTERIES  221 

and  can  almost  see  a  bright  smiling  face  that  bids 
me  be  patient  for  a  little  while. 

I  told  Dr. what  we  had  seen.     He  stood  a 

moment  as  if  incredulous,  then  sat  down  with  his 
head  on  his  hands  in  dee^j  thought.  "  I  imagined 
that  I  knew  something  about  the  relation  of  soul 
and  body  after  a  half  century  of  reading,  watching, 
thinking  about  it,"  said  he.  "  But  I  don't.  Body 
lowest ;  mind  highest !    No,  I  give  it  up." 

Occult  Suggestions. 

During  our  boy's  illness  we  had  not  diagnosed 
the  trouble  as  due  to  a  tumor.  The  majority  of 
the  consulting  physicians,  as  I  have  said,  regarded 
the  case  as  one  of  limited  meningitis,  which  pro- 
duced a  suffusion  of  matter  at  the  base  of  the  brain 
sufficient  to  account  for  all  the  symptoms,  even  the 
blindness  following  the  destruction  of  the  optic 
nerve.  In  this  they  were  mistaken,  as  an  autopsy 
revealed  a  tumor,  excited  by  a  blow  of  which  at 
the  time  we  had  not  known. 

An  incident  occurred  during  his  sickness  that 
produced  much  speculation.  One  day,  after  a 
period  of  comparative  comfort  during  which  he  had 
gone  about  with  me,  he  complained  of  a  strange 

numbness  in  the  feet.     Dr. advised  a  return 

to  iodide  of  potassium  three  times  a  day,  to  pro- 
duce the  absorption  of  any  remaining  foreign 
matter. 

In  some  way  our  conversation  drifted  to  the 
subject  of  clairvoyance.     In  another  part  of  the 


222  ALOl^G  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

city  was  a  physician  who  was  reputed  to  be  gifted 
with  "  second  sight."  The  doctor  proposed  to  test 
this  man's  ability  by  referring  to  him  my  boy's 
case.  "  If  he  has  clairvoyant  i)ower  he  can  tell  us 
what's  the  matter.  But  I  think  we  will  find  him 
a  humbug,  though  he  is  said  to  be  a  highly  educated 
man  and  a  very  respectable  citizen.  But  as  he 
knows  neither  of  us  it  will  be  a  good  chance  to  test 
him.     Come ! " 

On  our  way  to  the  expert's  residence  Dr. 

and  I  went  over  the  prominent  symptoms  of  the 
lad's  malady:  Numbness  in  feet.  Heart,  lungs, 
stomach  all  right  organically,  but  something  prey- 
ing on  the  pneumo-gastric  nerve  that  connects  them. 
Total  blindness.     About  two-fifths  deaf,  etc.,  etc. 

On  entering  the  clairvoyant's  room,  we  made  no 

introduction  of  ourselves  by  name.  Dr. only 

stating  that  we  were  interested  in  a  case  that  was 
somewhat  mysterious. 

Instantly  the  clairvoyant  dropped  into  a  chair, 
and  began  in  a  dreamy  tone: 

"  Very  mysterious !  I  can't  see  him.  Ah,  a  lad ! 
Numb  in  his  feet;  a  new  symptom. — Limbs  all 
right. — Intestines,  stomach,  heart,  lungs  all  sound ; 
but  something  disturbing  the  pneumo-gastric 
nerve. — Oh !  and  blind.  Can't  see  a  ray  of  light. — 
And  two-fifths  deaf.  Limited  meningitis  base  of 
brain.  Five  drops  of  iodide  of  potassium  three 
times  a  day." 

"Tumor?"  suggested  Dr.  . 

"  No  tumor ;  meningitis." 


SOME  MYSTEPJES  223 

We  came  away  convinced  that  if  in  this  man's 
case  there  was  no  clairvoj^ant  power,  he  did  possess 
a  remarkable  telepathic  ability,  and  read  the 
thonghts  of  those  inquiring  of  him. 

Dr.  determined  to  make  further  investi- 
gations. He  sent  his  office-boy  to  the  expert  in 
occult  things,  giving  the  messenger  a  few  symptoms 
of  a  purely  imaginary  case.  The  boy  returned 
wildly  excited. 

"Why,  Doctor,  the  man  didn't  wait  for  me  to 
speak,  but  told  me  that  I  had  all  the  things  you 
said  your  patient  had." 

"What  else?" 

"Nothing." 

The  clairvoyant  had  evidently  read  the  mes- 
senger's mind,  but  knew  nothing  of  the  case. 

During  the  following  year  I  made  the  personal 
acquaintance  of  the  clairvoyant,  meeting  him  in 
one  of  our  city  charities,  for  he  gave  liberally  of 
his  gains  whether  well-  or  ill-gotten.  I  told  him  of 
the  accuracy  with  which  he  had  read  our  thoughts, 
and  also  of  the  way  in  which  lie  followed  them  even 
when  they  went  far  astray  from  the  real  facts 
in  the  case.  He  was  not  at  all  disturbed  or 
hurt  by  what  I  said;  but  quietly  told  me  his  his- 
tory. 

He  was  a  Harvard  graduate,  and  held  diplomas 
from  our  best  medical  schools.  Early  in  his  prac- 
tice he  had  observed  that  when  a  patient  entered 
his  offtce  he  seemed  to  have  an  intuitive  knowledge 
of  the  person's  ailment,  which  subsequent  examina- 


224  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

tioii  confirmed.  He  acquired  the  habit  of  dropping 
external  diagnosis  and  prescribing  from  his  im- 
pressions. "  I  now  believe,"  he  confessed,  "  that  I 
have  no  clairvoyant  power;  I  am  the  telepathic 
victim  of  any  and  everybody  that  visits  me.  I 
can't  help  thinking  their  thoughts  about  them- 
selves. Generally  we  are  both  right.  That  ac- 
counts for  my  rather  extensive  reputation  as  a 
wonder-maker.  People  like  to  be  told  on  apparent 
authority  what  they  already  believe.  On  the  whole 
I  guess  I  do  more  good  than  harm ;  for  people  are 
apt  to  know  what  ails  them.  Besides,  I  give  no 
medicines  beyond  a  few  simple  old-housewives' 
remedies.  With  a  little  cheering  up  they  are  still, 
in  spite  of  the  advance  of  medical  science,  about  the 
best." 

Telepathic  Suggestions. 

This  is  not  the  only  book  I  have  written.  The 
mention  of  telepathy  reminds  me  of  the  first  brain 
chick  that  a  publisher's  incubator  hatched  out  for 
me,  and  set  cackling  among  the  flock  of  other 
creatures  of  the  quill. 

Shortly  after  the  book's  appearance  I  was  travel- 
ling in  a  railroad  train  on  the  Pacific  coast.  Two 
ladies,  total  strangers  to  me,  seemed  to  be  curiously 
interested  in  my  appearance.  I  adjusted  my  neck- 
tie, examined  my  cap,  and  had  the  assurance  of  my 
wife  that  I  was  in  good  order.  But  the  ladies  were 
evidently  not  agreed  between  themselves  as  to  some- 
thing about  my  personality.     This  much  I  sur- 


SOME  MYSTERIES  225 

mised  from  tlieir  debate  and  tlieir  glances  in  my 
direction. 

Several  weeks  later,  on  registering  my  name  at 
the  Stoneman  House  in  the  Yosemite,  I  was  greeted 
by  an  exclamation  of  a  sort  of  satisfied  surprise  just 
behind  me.  Turning  I  confronted  the  strange 
ladies.  They  apologized  for  their  intrusion,  and 
then  gave  me  a  problem  to  solve.  One  of  them 
had  read  my  book,  and,  although  she  had  no  con- 
ception of  my  personal  appearance,  was  strangely 
convinced  that  I  was  the  author  of  it.  Her  com- 
panion twitted  her  on  the  dangerous  habit  of  seeing 
ghosts.  The  opportunity  of  seeing  the  name  I 
should  write  on  the  hotel  record  was  too  much  for 
the  curiosity  of  both. 

The  acquaintance  thus  oddly  formed  has  con- 
tinued for  many  years.  None  of  us  can  understand 
the  matter,  although  I  think  we  have  all  profited 
by  the  courtesies  it  suggested,  although  we  live 
three  thousand  miles  apart.  But  I  cannot  under- 
stand how  thoughts  held  long  in  solution,  as  liter- 
ary invention  requires,  Avould  ultimately  ooze 
through  the  skin  and  leave  their  telltale  marks  on 
one's  countenance. 

A  week  later  I  was  walking  on  the  street  in 
Seattle  pondering  this  very  strange  occurrence.  I 
stopped  a  moment  to  glance  over  the  periodicals  in 
a  bookstore  window.  The  proprietor,  having 
caught  a  glimpse  of  me,  ran  to  the  back  of  his  sho]) 
and  brought  a  book,  saying,  "  Mister,  I  think  you 
will  like  to  read  this."     It  was  my  "  chicken  come 


226  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

home  to  roost."  As  I  glanced  at  tlie  volume,  I 
must  have  shown  in  my  manner  a  perplexity  which 
the  man  mistook  for  displeasure,  for  he  instantly 
apologized.  He  declared  that  he  had  never  done 
so  rude  a  thing  before,  but  that  on  seeing  me  he 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  act  as  he  had 
acted.  He  begged  me  not  to  be  offended.  I  then 
told  him  that,  having  sufdciently  worried  my- 
self in  writing  the  stuff,  I  had  no  inclination  to  read 
it.  The  storekeeper  dropped  upon  a  stool,  and 
stammered  out, — "  'Pon  my  word.  Mister,  I  never 
offered  that  book  or  any  other  book  to  anybody 
who  didn't  ask  for  it,  although  I  have  been  in  this 
business  for  twenty  years.     Ain't  it  strange?  " 

I  don't  know  if  he  has  ever  solved  the  mystery; 
I  have  not. 

A  few  days  after,  I  told  the  incident  to  a  little 
group  of  friends  whom  I  found  on  board  the 
steamer  going  to  Alaska.  One  of  the  party  pro- 
fessed some  knowledge  of  the  telepathic  process. 
He  insisted  that  if  a  number  of  persons  would 
think  simultaneously  and  intensely  upon  a  given 
subject,  a  hint  of  that  subject  would  be  conveyed 
without  word  or  outward  sign  to  others.  We 
agreed  to  try  the  experiment.  Our  party  consisted 
of  a  lawyer,  a  clergyman,  a  banker  and  a  mining 
engineer.  We  summoned  a  jury  from  a  number  of 
our  fellow-passengers  who  were  as  yet  unknown  to 
us.  One  after  another  of  us  four  was  to  stand  up, 
while  the  other  three  would  think  hard  of  who  and 
what  he  was.     I  doubt  if  there  was  ever  before 


SOME  MYSTERIES  227 

such  team-work  in  the  effort  to  drive  a  thought 
into  others'  minds.  Result: — The  clergyman,  who 
wore  a  rough  storm-coat,  was  selected  by  the  jury 
for  the  mining  engineer ;  while  the  lawyer,  being  es- 
pecially well-groomed,  was  taken  for  the  banker. 
We  agreed — myself  being  the  only  dissenter — that 
telepathy  was  a  humbug. 

I  imagine  that  my  great-grandchildren  will  know 
more  of  this  subject  than  their  forebears,  and  I  nar- 
rate the  incidents  as  possible  way-marks  on  the 
road  of  psychic  discovery. 

Literary  Assimilation. 

As  akin  to  this  subject  of  occult  suggestion  I  will 
give  another  incident.  I  was  in  the  back  office  of  a 
publisher  when  several  reviewers  and  critics  were 
discussing  two  books  that  had  recently  appeared 
and  which  in  substance,  rhetorical  style  and  in 
some  details  were  very  similar.  Plagiarism  was 
hinted  at.  The  editor  of  one  of  our  foremost  maga- 
zines, who  had  spent  many  years  in  reading  and 
deciding  upon  the  merits  of  manuscripts,  objected 
to  that  inference.  He  stated  that  on  many  occa- 
sions he  had  found  upon  his  table  duplicates,  and 
once  or  twice  triplicates,  of  the  same  story  or  es- 
say, which  had  been  written  by  i)ersons  who  were 
total  strangers  to  one  another,  and  who  from  their 
remote  residences  in  various  parts  of  the  world 
could  have  had  no  knowledge  of  what  the  alter  ego 
had  written.  These  articles,  he  said,  were  generally 
on  some  new  and  peculiar  line,  suggesting  that  the 


228  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

brains  responsible  for  them  had  brol^en  out  in 
strange  spots. 

His  exphmation  was,  in  his  own  verbiage,  "  Un- 
conscious Cerebral  Assimilation."  This  explana- 
tion needs  itself  to  be  explained.  Is  there  a  sort  of 
Time-Spirit  over,  around,  within  us,  that  prompts 
minds  similarly  constituted  to  follow  the  same 
paths  of  thought?  Are  we  altogether  free  agents  in 
literary  composition?  When  we  invoke  our  Muse 
does  she  sometimes  dictate  to  us  from  a  page  which 
she  has  used  in  helping  other  votaries  out  of  their 
intellectual  sterility? 

I  recall  a  tragic  result  of  this  spirit-intermed- 
dling with  human  affairs.  An  American  scholar  of 
my  acquaintance  had  spent  many  years  over  the 
subject  of  Antichrist.  He  concluded  that  the  Ro- 
man Empire  most  nearly  filled  out  the  description 
of  that  ill-savored  personage  contained  in  the  car- 
toon predictions  of  Scripture.  To  confirm  his  con- 
clusion he  mastered  the  ijolitics  of  the  Empire,  the 
biographies  and  policies  of  the  various  emperors, 
and  spent  a  moderate  fortune  over  squeezes  from 
monuments,  coins,  etc.  He  read  to  a  confidential 
circle  chapters  of  his  forthcoming  book.  As  he 
was  about  to  send  the  manuscript  to  print  there 
appeared  Renan's  Antichrist.  The  learned  French- 
man had  covered  with  detailed  exactness  the  same 
ground,  citing  the  same  facts  and  drawing  the 
same  inferences.  The  world  reputation  of  Renan 
forbade  my  friend  contesting  the  rewards  of  au- 
thorship. 


SOME  MYSTERIES  229 

It  is  said  that  the  waves  of  ether  which  convey 
the  Marconigrams  radiate  in  all  directions  from  a 
common  centre,  and  could  be  interpreted  by  per- 
sons far  away  on  any  side,  if  only  they  had  the  key, 
or  the  instrument  to  measure  the  dimension  of  the 
wave.  Does  a  new  thought  or  series  of  thoughts, 
agitating  our  minds,  similarly,  without  word-wires, 
agitate  the  thought-ether  everywhere,  so  that  any 
other  mind  that  haj^pens  to  be  attuned  to  the  intel- 
lectual wave  will  be  prompted  by  it?  Since  Jules 
Verne  is  gone  where  he  knows  all  about  this,  but 
cannot  tell  us,  possibly  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells,  who 
doesn't  know  but  can  tell,  may  be  induced  to  dis- 
cuss the  subject. 

The  phenomenon  is  often  noticed  in  other  than 
literary  matters.  The  Braille  system  of  "  point- 
writing  "  for  the  blind  appeared  in  France  simulta- 
neously with  that  of  my  friend,  the  late  Dr.  McClel- 
land, in  America ;  yet  I  am  confident  there  had  been 
no  previous  hint  of  it  from  either  inventor. 
Anaesthesia  has  at  least  three  reputed  fathers.  This 
is  harder  to  explain  than  that  seven  cities  strove 
for  the  renown  of  having  been  the  birthplace  of 
Homer;  or  that  the  Codes  of  Moses  and  Hammu- 
rabi were  coincident;  or  that  the  Jewish  expecta- 
tion of  the  Messiah  was  matched  by  something 
similar  among  pagan  people,  as  w^hen,  a  half  cen- 
tury before  the  Advent,  the  Roman  Sibyl  heralded 
a  universal  monarch  who  would  bring  peace  and 
happiness  to  all  mankind.  When  Virgil  congratu- 
lated his  friend  Pollio  on  the  birth  of  a  son,  saying 


230  ALOXG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

that  he  might  be  the  coming  deliverer  of  men  from 
all  their  ills,  was  he  a  plagiarist  of  the  Jewish 
prophets? 

Whence  come  these  common  thoughts?  Some- 
where Max  Miiller  says, — "  Thoughts  flow  through 
my  innermost  being  like  meteors  which  shoot  from 
heaven  toward  earth,  but  are  extinguished  before 
they  reach  their  goal."  Are  there  more  observers 
than  one  who  detect  these  celestial  monitors  before 
they  disappear,  and  try  to  tell  the  dark  world  what 
they  mean? 

But  I  had  better  stop  this  sort  of  speculation,  lest 
I  inherit  the  woe  of  those  who  are  guilty  of  ogling 
the  unrevealed,  whom  the  poet  rei)resents  in  Pur- 
gatory with  heads  reversed  on  their  shoulders  and 
tears  streaming  down  their  backs. 


IX 

REST  CURES 

Change  of  Thought. 

IN  common  with  most  men  whose  ambition  puts 
a  strain  upon  their  abilities  I  once  found  my- 
self verging  toward  a  breakdown.  While  the 
passion  for  success  was  not  diminished,  indeed 
rather  increased  by  some  tastings  of  the  spicery  in 
the  cup,  I  was  becoming  more  easily  wearied  with 
intellectual  application;  the  draught  smacked  too 
much  of  the  dregs.  Subjects  which  once  had  been 
pursued  with  zest  until  midnight  became  stale  be- 
fore midday.  Mental  energy  was  getting  not  only 
torpid,  but  a  little  rheumatic,  so  that  exertion 
became  painful. 

To  this  was  soon  added  nervous  irritability.  I  re- 
sorted to  the  weed,  only  to  find,  what  I  believe  to  be 
the  general  experience,  that,  while  it  solaced  for  the 
time  being  as  I  watched  the  encircling  clouds,  it 
was  invariably  followed  by  greater  lassitude  and  in- 
creased petulance. 

My  physician  put  me  through  the  usual  course 
of  tonics,  baths^  diets,  household  gymnastics,  and 
days  oif ;  and  with  the  usual  result  that  I  was  none 

231 


232  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

the  less  stupid  at  my  study-table.  He  then  pre- 
scribed total  rest  for  a  while. 

While  seeking  for  some  convenient  "  belt  of 
calm "  where  I  could  drop  anchor,  I  was  more 
wisely  counselled  by  a  friend,  the  editor  of  one  of 
our  leading  periodicals : — "  You  can't  rest  in  idle- 
ness. You  are  not  built  that  way.  If  you  try  to 
anchor,  you  will  find  a  ground-swell  in  your  nature 
that  Avill  trouble  you  far  more  than  the  high  waves 
of  intensest  pursuit.  Your  mind  will  grind  on  and 
on  just  the  same,  and  if  you  give  it  no  grist  of  inter- 
esting topics  it  will  simply  grind  on  itself  and  be- 
come permanently  injured.  You  need  not  cessa- 
tion from  work,  but  change  of  work.  I've  been 
down  in  your  dumj)  myself,  and  know  how  to  crawl 
out  better  than  your  doctors  do.  If  you  attempt  to 
rest  by  stagnating  you  will  only  stir  up  your  own 
sediment.  Come  to  the  of&ce.  Give  me  a  semi- 
weekly  column — on  any  topic  you  please,  except 
those  which  have  heretofore  occupied  you.  Write 
up  foreign  affairs,  thunder  away  on  national  mat- 
ters, or  ^  shoot  folly  as  it  flies '  in  fashionable  and 
conventional  life.  Your  brain  needs  rotation  in 
crops,  new  seeding." 

For  a  time  I  took  his  advice.  I  succeeded.  I  won 
for  his  paper  some  abuse  for  its  editorial  articles — 
"  a  true  sign  of  journalistic  ability "  was  my 
friend's  encouraging  comment — and  at  the  same 
time  I  felt  myself  being  relieved  from  my  malady. 
This  surprised  me ;  for,  instead  of  lessening,  I  had 
added  to  the  bidk  of  my  daily  task,  yet  found  in  it 


KEST  CUEES  233 

a  stimulus  which  reacted  favorably  upon  my  ordi- 
nary professional  work.  I  had  not  rested,  but  I  had 
recreated. 

Since  then  I  have  always  had  a  side  "  iron  in  the 
fire,"  something  that  pleased  my  fancy,  upon  which 
I  could  work  off  the  ennui  that  comes  from  undi- 
vided application.  My  library  table  had  two  sides. 
On  this  side  I  toiled  at  my  professional  work. 
Across  yonder  I  played,  though  there  my  pen 
scratched  at  breakneck  rate.  My  friend  was  right ; 
the  mind  cannot  rest.  It  is  the  only  mechanism 
that  has  demonstrated  perpetual  motion.  The  ju- 
dicious wear  of  it — that  is,  without  the  tear — makes 
it  run  more  smoothly.  It  is  more  alert  and  active 
than  the  eagle;  for  the  eagle  at  times  stays  upon 
the  nest,  while  the  mind  rests  best  upon  the  wing ; — 
only  give  it  new  prey  to  search  and  different  alti- 
tudes through  which  to  soar. 

In  these  experiments  I  made  a  discovery.  I  found 
in  myself  tastes  and  adaptabilities  that  I  had  not 
before  suspected.  If  I  had  known  them  in  earlier 
days  the  knowledge  might  have  given  an  entirely 
different  direction  to  my  life.  But  at  forty  it  is  too 
late  to  transplant  oneself  into  another  profession. 
The  old  roots  will  not  form  about  them  the  new 
mould  closely  enough  to  draw  full  nurture. 

But  yet  at  that  age,  or  even  later, — like  old  trees 
— we  can  take  on  new  grafts.  And  sometimes  the 
graft  will  bear  better  fruit  than  that  produced  di- 
rectly by  the  old  tree.  I  have  a  notion  that  it  has 
been  so  with  me,  as  I  look  at  the  two  i^iles  of  stuff, 


234:  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

the  one  professional,  the  other  extra-professional, 
that  I  have  garnered  during  these  later  years. 

Such  experience  is,  I  think,  not  uncommon.  We 
cull  that  which  is  sweetest  and  best  oftentimes 
along  the  side  paths,  rather  than  on  the  beaten 
highway  where  we  drag  our  heavy  burdens.  Robert 
C.  Ogden  was  a  business  man;  his  career  was  that 
of  buyer  and  seller  and  an  employer  of  men ;  but  we 
erect  his  monument  at  Hampton  and  in  our  hearts 
because  he  found  his  recreation  in  philanthropy. 
Stedman  was  a  banker ;  but  who  cares  for  that  when 
reading  his  jDoems?  Morse  was  a  portrait  painter; 
we  never  think  of  it  when  we  telegraph  with  his 
code.  The  dynamo  is  only  a  device  for  gathering  up 
the  side  spray  from  the  wire  while  the  main  current 
goes  on;  but  perhaps  electro-magnetic  induction  is 
the  most  useful  discovery  in  the  whole  field  of  mod- 
ern science.  We  light  our  houses,  drive  our  trolleys 
and  machine  shops  by  this  side-i)lay  of  the  titanic 
force.     Is  brain-work  exceptional  in  this  respect? 

Literary  Diversion. 

As  already  intimated,  I  have  been  guilty  of  mak- 
ing some  books,  and  thus  adding  to  the  burden  upon 
the  popular  mind.  In  extenuation  of  my  offense  I 
avow  that  I  never  wilfully  attempted  to  enter  the 
literary  fraternity,  conceiving  that  one  profession 
is  enough  for  any  man  of  ordinary  abilities. 

Now  and  then,  however,  there  has  been  swung 
open  to  me  a  favorable  opportunity  to  investigate  a 
subject  that  ought  to  be  in  the  public  interest,  and 


BEST  CUKES  235 

I  have  felt  it  to  be  a  duty  to  lend  my  pen  to  the 
printer.  Or  some  period  of  history  has  engrossed 
me,  and  for  my  own  better  information  I  have  set  in 
order  its  events  and  the  impressions  they  have 
made. 

A  great  delight — something  left  over  from  child- 
ish habit — has  been  to  imagine  myself  living  in 
some  other  land  and  age,  and  to  attempt  to  paint 
the  scenes  with  which  I  would  there  and  then  have 
been  familiar.  This  has  led  me  to  read  more  care- 
fully, to  dig  out  from  libraries  the  older  books — 
which  are  generally  the  fuller  books,  of  which  the 
more  recent  are  apt  to  be  partial  compilations  or, 
at  best,  condensations — to  familiarize  myself  with 
folk-lore,  and  now  and  then  to  journey  far  away  in 
order  to  coniirm  or  correct  present  impressions. 

Library  pals  and  publishers  have  persuaded  me 
that  the  public  would  be  interested  in  what  I  had 
found,  and  so  I  have  let  my  craft  drift  in  among  the 
motley  fleet  of  so-called  "  current  literature."  But 
the  chief  incentive  has  been  my  own  pleasure  and 
recreation. 

A  semi-fiendish  pastime  has  been  to  occasionally 
play  the  literary  critic  of  others.  There  is  noth- 
ing more  fascinating  than  to  read  a  really  thought- 
ful book  with  the  care  necessary  to  its  cor- 
rect assaying.  Such  study  stimulates  and  informs 
us  as,  perhaps,  no  other  intellectual  work  does. 

Besides,  reviewing  gives  one  a  sense  of  moral  up- 
lift as  one  realizes  that  he  is  thus  introducing 
others  to  helpful  reading  or  warning  them  against 


236  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

that  which  will  only  result  in  a  waste  of  time, — this 
latter  consideration  being  important  in  our  day 
when  there  is  an  overflight  of  goose-quills. 

But  unfortunately  the  profession  of  critics  is 
crowded  with  those  who  are  unfitted,  both  as  re- 
spects ability  and  conscience,  for  their  task.  Half- 
educated  men  and  women,  who  could  not  have  writ- 
ten a  page  of  what  they  oracularly  "  review,"  label 
our  new  books  with  commendation  or  condemna- 
tion, and  the  dear  public  takes  the  label  instead  of  a 
sample.  We  buy  our  literary  stuff  by  the  package, 
as  we  do  our  kitchen  foods,  and,  alas !  there  are  no 
Pure  Food  Laws  to  guard  our  mental  pabulum. 
The  "  critic  "  who  can  write  a  fetching  advertise- 
ment is  the  most  valuable  man  about  some  publish- 
ing offices.  In  a  case  known  to  me  a  successful 
drummer  was  taken  from  the  road,  and  installed  in 
the  place  of  prospectus  writer,  taking  the  position 
long  occupied  by  one  who  had  himself  written  mas- 
terpieces. 

So  it  oftentimes  comes  to  pass  that  books  of  the 
greatest  importance  are  left  in  manuscript  obscur- 
ity because  they  were  not  sufficiently  nimble-footed 
to  get  to  the  head  of  the  procession  of  prospective 
big  sellers.  Books  that  are  sparkling  with  gems  of 
thought  remain  buried  under  the  spangles  of  their 
own  pall.  Manuscripts  are  rejected  by  a  dozen  pub- 
lishers only  to  be  rescued  by  a  lucky  thirteenth  who 
happens  to  be  his  own  "  reader."  Trash  is  mar- 
keted by  the  ton,  because  the  office  critic  happened 
at  the  time  to  be  too  full  of  lunch,  or  had  such  large 


BEST  CUKES  237 

holes  in  his  brain  that  he  was  unappreciative  of  the 
finer  stuff  that  sifted  through. 

An  incident  among  my  own  first  attempts  to  fly 
in  i)ublic  will  illustrate  this,  I  sent  a  sketch  to  one 
of  our  best  ijeriodicals.  It  was  returned  with  the 
usual  thanks  and  regrets.  It  api)eared  later  in  an- 
other magazine.  Its  appearance  there  brought  a 
letter  from  the  first  i)ublisher  stating  that  he  had 
read  with  interest  the  article  in  the  rival  periodical, 
and  promising  goodly  remuneration  for  one  of  like 
character. 

Reviewers  of  published  books  are  often  as  uncer- 
tain in  their  judgments.  Having  worked  on  such 
teams  I  may  be  allowed  to  criticize  some  off-side 
plays  of  my  comrades. 

I  have  had  occasion  to  look  over  some  fifty  "  criti- 
cisms "  of  a  well-known  book.  More  than  a  third  of 
these  were  made  up  of  identical  sentences  repeated 
from  the  publisher's  advance  trade  advertise- 
ment. 

One  of  our  prominent  journals  was  accustomed 
to  send  all  books  for  review  to  a  certain  versatile 
schoolmarm,  whose  remuneration  for  her  "  opin- 
ions "  was  the  privilege  of  adding  the  precious  me- 
lange to  her  own  library  or  selling  it  to  second-hand 
dealers  at  half  the  publishers'  price.  These  books 
were  upon  all  sorts  of  subjects — the  Pragmatic  Phi- 
losophy, the  Atomic  Theory  of  the  Constitution  of 
the  Universe,  Psychic  Research,  travels  in  Arabia, 
dialect  stories  of  Indiana  and  Pitlochie,  adventures 
among  cowboys,  life  in  the  slums  or  amid  fashion- 


238  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

able  society  rot.  The  lady  in  question  was  siiffl- 
ciently  eclectic  or  versatile — doubtless  with  the 
help  of  her  favorite  scholars — to  sound  all  the 
depths  and  shallows  of  the  world's  current  think- 
ing! 

An  amusing  instance  of  maladroit  reviewing 
came  under  my  eye.  I  had  published  a  book  en- 
titled Incentives  for  Life,  made  up  of  moral  and  re- 
ligious advice  to  young  people.  A  journal  of  wide 
circulation  gave  the  book  praise. 

"  There,"  said  the  author,  "  is  a  critic  who  knows 
what  he  is  talking  about." 

But  at  the  end  of  a  half  column  of  blarney  he  was 
disillusioned.  The  reviewer  had  evidently  mistaken 
the  title,  and  thought  the  book  was  Avritten  against 
the  growing  habit  of  suicide  from  lack  of  "  Incen- 
tive "  to  keej)  on  living.  The  closing  sentence  of 
this  precious  critique  read, — "  The  book  presents 
in  succinct  form,  logical  connection  and  elegant 
diction,  all  the  considerations  which  might  be  sup- 
posed to  induce  men  to  live  when  they  would  rather 
die;  but  it  is  a  work  of  kindly  supererogation;  for 
when  momentarily  overcome  by  unusual  burdens, 
or  by  the  pressure  of  long-continued  weight  upon 
the  spirit,  men  hasten  to  shuffle  off  the  mortal  coil," 
etc.  And  this  about  a  book  written  for  the  Sunday- 
school  and  not  for  the  Suicide  Club ! 

One  well  known  to  me  published  a  work  relating 
to  a  period  of  medieval  history.  To  make  it  more 
valuable  to  scholars  the  publisher  suggested  a  thor- 
ough bibliographical  api)endix.    The  most  noted  ex- 


REST  CURES  239 

pert  attached  to  the  Astor  Library  in  New  York 
was  engaged  to  prepare  the  work.  Page  after  page 
of  condensed  type  gave  the  list  of  possible  books  of 
reference.  All  the  sources  of  information  were 
thoroughly  explored.  Every  bound  volume,  every 
pamphlet  or  manuscript  that  was  catalogued  in  the 
world's  libraries  was  cited.  But  a  reviewer  in  a 
critical  journal,  after  praising  the  style  of  the  new 
book,  coolly  remarked  that  from  the  "  meagre  bibli- 
ography appended  "  he  doubted  the  author's  erudi- 
tion. It  was  afterward  discovered  that  the  list 
given  lacked  nothing  except  a  pamphlet  that  the 
critic  himself  had  once  written  on  the  subject.  Yet 
the  criticism  undoubtedly  affected  the  sale  of  the 
work. 

I  once  was  led  to  test  by  experience  the  life  in  the 
cheapest  night-lodging  houses.  The  motley  crowd 
of  old  bums  and  unfortunates  most  cruelly  im- 
pressed me,  a  mere  tenderfoot  in  such  semi-civilized 
environment.  While  the  sensations,  both  moral 
and  physical,  were  still  jDainfully  upon  me,  I  wrote 
a  sketch  of  what  I  had  discovered.  A  weekly  com- 
plimented my  gift  for  romancing,  but  informed  its 
readers  that,  of  course,  there  was  really  no  such  low 
grade  life  in  our  country. 

"  Confession  is  good  for  the  soul,"  so  I  will  tell 
the  following  of  my  own  sad  lapse  from  the  virtue 
of  a  true  critic. 

I  had  agreed  to  review  a  work  by  a  well-known 
author.  His  subject  was  rather  mystical,  and  his 
method  of  dealing  with  it  was  in  spots  too  profound 


240  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

for  my  fathoming  line.  I  sought  out  the  sage  him- 
self. 

"  Tell  me  plainly,  Doctor,  just  what  you  were 
driving  at  when  you  wrote  the  book." 

He  explained  his  theme,  and  threaded  his  argu- 
ments in  glittering  array.  Yet  I  could  not  take  in 
his  full  design.  I  said,  "  Please  write  me  a  letter, 
for  I  have  reason  to  be  interested  in  your  work." 

"  Gladly,"  he  replied,  "  for  the  thick-headed 
reviewers  haven't  brains  enough  to  grasp  my 
ideas." 

The  letter  was  a  little  clearer  than  our  conversa- 
tion, but  still  not  sufficiently  illuminating  to  allow 
me  to  risk  putting  the  subject  on  the  public  screen 
through  my  somewhat  opaque  mental  lens.  I  there- 
fore wrote  a  brief  introduction  in  which  I  por- 
trayed the  deserved  renown  of  the  writer  of  the 
book;  also  some  closing  words  of  general  commen- 
dation, for  the  work  had  many  incidental  beauties, 
brilliant  epigrams  and  rare  philosophical  deduc- 
tions. I  filled  the  bulk  of  the  critique  with  my 
friend's  own  elucidation  of  the  topic,  which  I  took 
word  for  word  from  his  letter. 

A  few  weeks  later  at  our  club  the  learned  writer 
said  to  me,  "  There  is  only  one  man  wlio  seems  to 
understand  my  book.  He  is  the  fellow  who  re- 
viewed me  in ,  No  man  has  the  right  to  crit- 
icize another's  work  unless  he  possesses  a  sort  of 
telepathic  power  of  putting  himself  at  the  centre  of 
an  author's  soul  and  looking  out.  That  fellow  has 
done  it.    Read  his  review.    It  will  clear  up  some 


REST  CURES  241 

things  which  you  apparently  didn't  understand  the 
other  day." 

Whether  his  remark  was  a  wise  rule  for  critics  in 
general,  or  was  suggested  by  a  suspicion  of  my 
theft,  I  am  uncertain.  But  I  am  certain  that  I  did 
not  lose  a  friend  by  my  plagiarism. 

Rapid  Motion. 

Mental  relief  produced  by  change  of  studies  and 
habitual  lines  of  professional  interest  proved  so 
beneficial  to  me  that  I  was  induced  to  try  a  larger 
dose  of  it.  The  opportunity  for  a  few  months' 
cruise  and  tramp  in  the  Middle  Orient  offered  the 
sugar-coating  for  the  rather  bitter  pill  of  absence 
from  those  whom  I  loved;  so  I  sailed  away.  The 
log  of  that  voyage  will  show  that  it  was  not  defi- 
cient in  furnishing  at  least  change  of  thought. 

Allowing,  as  I  thought,  an  abundance  of  time  for 
crossing  the  Atlantic,  I  counted  upon  at  least  four 
days  in  London  before  leaving  for  Naj^les,  where  I 
would  take  steamer  for  Alexandria.  I  therefore 
left  all  preparation  for  the  tour,  outfit  and  the  like, 
to  be  made  in  England.  Unfortunately  a  storm  pro- 
tracted my  ocean  trip  two  days;  and,  as  if  some 
vengeful  Venus  were  bent  on  thwarting  a  diminu- 
tive Ulysses,  the  Mediterranean  steamer  put  her 
sailing  date  two  days  ahead.  This  used  up  my  ex- 
pected four  days  in  London. 

At  Charing  Cross  Station  I  was  informed  that 
it  was  useless  to  attempt  reaching  N"aples  in  time 
for  the  sailing  of  the  vessel.    The  various  travelling 


242  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

agencies  gave  me  the  same  unconsoling  advice. 
Luckily  I  ran  across  an  exceptionally  canny  man- 
ager of  one  of  these  latter  helpful  concerns.  After 
walking  up  and  down  his  oflice  for  five  minutes  he 
turned  suddenly: 

"  If  you  can  leave  London  in  half  an  hour  I'll  put 
you  on  your  steamer." 

"  Impossible !  "  I  replied.  "  I  have  all  my  ar- 
rangements to  make." 

"  Nonsense !  The  fewer  arrangements  you  make 
for  that  trip  the  fewer  disappointments  you  will 
have." 

"  But  I  must  have  my  passport  vised  at  the  Turk- 
ish Consulate,  money  arranged  for  at  my  bankers, 
clothing  bought.  Besides,  I  am  hungry  and  tired, 
and  I  have  promised  myself  a  good  feed  and  a  rest 
with  some  English  friends.  I'll  take  the  next  boat 
for  Egypt." 

"  This  is  the  last  good  boat  for  the  season.  The 
next  would  bring  you  too  late  to  see  what  you  ought 
to  see  in  the  land.  It  is  already  almost  too  hot  to 
go.  Now  I'll  have  your  passport  vised,  and  sent  to 
reach  you  at  the  first  jilace  where  you  will  need  it. 
As  for  money, — let  me  see  your  letter  of  credit !  All 
right!  I'll  advance  all  the  money  you  will  need. 
It's  up  to  you.  Thirty  minutes  to  do  London  and 
the  British  Empire !    What  do  you  say?  " 

I  took  a  ten-seconds'  twirl  on  my  heel,  and  said, 
"  I'll  do  it."  Ten  minutes  suf&ced  for  the  purchase 
of  a  shop  suit  of  travelling  clothes,  whose  chief 
merit  was   that   they  already  looked  dirty,   and 


REST  CURES  243 

would  probably  not  be  further  soiled  by  desert  dust. 
Ten  minutes  more  were  spent  in  an  Epicurean  de- 
bauch at  a  lunch  counter.  In  eight  minutes  more  I 
was  at  Charing  Cross  Station.  My  friend  and  I 
arrived  almost  simultaneously. 

"  Get  in  here !  "  he  said,  pushing  me  into  a  first- 
class  compartment.  "  Here  is  your  money ;  Bank 
of  England  bills ;  some  French  gold,  and  a  handful 
of  silver.  Here  is  a  package  of  letters  introducing 
you  to  various  hotel  nabobs  who  will  want  to  serve 
me  even  if  they  don't  know  you.  And  here  is  your 
ticket  to  Marseilles." 

"  To  Marseilles !  I'm  not  going  to  Marseilles. 
I'm  going  to  Naples." 

"  That's  right,"  he  replied,  gently  pressing  me 
back  into  my  seat.  "  But  you  are  going  to  Naples 
by  way  of  Marseilles.  I  have  figured  it  out  that 
your  ship  starts  from  Marseilles  and  stops  at 
Naples ;  and  that  if  you  are  not  delayed  in  getting 
to  Paris,  and  if  the  train  loses  no  time  going  south 
from  there,  and  if  you  yourself  don't  get  left  at 
some  lunch  counter  on  the  way,  you  will  get  to  Mar- 
seilles about  sunrise  day  after  to-morrow,  and  your 
boat  doesn't  sail  until  seven  o'clock.  Bon  voyage!  '^ 
And  he  was  gone. 

Surely  with  a  series  of  almost  wrecking  storms 
on  the  Atlantic,  and  this  hustling  of  a  London  trav- 
elling agent,  I  was  getting  "  a  change  of  thought." 
In  fact  I  could  hardly  keep  up  with  my  own  medita- 
tions. I  recalled  the  story  of  the  tortoise  which 
was  seized  by  an  eagle,  and  dropped  upon  the  bald 


2U  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

head  of  a  philosopher.  The  experience  of  the  crea- 
ture as  he  was  gyrating  downward  must  have  been 
approximately  like  my  own  as  I  was  being  whirled 
away  on  my  unknown  journey. 

I  reached  my  steamer  at  Marseilles  just  as  she 
was  blowing  her  last  whistle,  pulled  out  to  her  in 
the  last  rowboat,  and  secured  her  last  vacant  berth. 
I  spent  the  days  of  the  crossing  in  making  j)ockets 
in  my  new  travelling  suit  (for  I  found  that  it  was 
without  these  essentials  of  male  attire ) ,  in  i^rotost- 
ing  with  the  captain  against  his  custom  of  allowing 
ship-rats  to  eat  off  the  kid  tops  of  the  passengers' 
gaiters,  and  in  resenting  the  claims  of  sundry  Eng- 
lish people,  who,  because  Britannia  ruled  the  sea, 
inmgined  that  they  could  appropriate  all  the  com- 
forts of  a  French  steamer. 

In  Cairo  I  put  up  at  Shepard's  hotel,  which  had 
recently  opened.  But  having,  through  recent 
events,  acquired  an  active  turn  of  mind,  I  found 
myself  bored  with  the  monotonous  kaleidoscope  of 
European  fashions  inside  the  great  hostelry,  and 
outside  with  the  continuous  parade  of  green  tur- 
bans, in  which  the  newfangled  saints  of  the  town 
impressed  strangers  with  the  fact  that  they  were 
returning  from  Mecca.  I  wanted  a  change,  so 
penetrated  the  interior  of  the  town,  and  put  up 
at — or  rather,  put  ui?  with — a  Portuguese-Arab 
tavern. 

Here  I  was  in  the  midst  of  antipodal  novelties, 
with  the  real  Egypt  thick  upon  me.  Except  for  the 
broken  English  of  the  chief  butler  of  the  establish- 


EEST  CURES  245 

meut  I  might  have  imagined  myself  transported  to 
the  age  of  the  Pharaohs.  At  night  tlie  illusion  was 
sharply  realistic,  for  several  of  the  x)lagues  of  that 
period  were  rehearsed  in  my  sleeping  apartment. 
My  bed  was  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  its  posts  rest- 
ing in  jars  of  water.  When  the  candles  were 
brought  the  walls  seemed  to  be  covered  with  tapes- 
tries of  watered  silk,  gently  moving  in  the  evening 
zephyr.  A  closer  inspection  revealed  myriads  of 
white  fleas  that  had  been  disturbed  by  the  light  and 
were  changing  positions,  possibly  being  mobilized 
for  a  night  attack.  In  the  interest  of  anthropolog- 
ical and  zoological  science  I  endured  my  lodgings 
for  several  days,  and  then  scratched  out. 

Now  that  my  brain  was  in  rapid  motion,  going 
after  "  new  thoughts,"  I  found  the  whole  land  of 
Egypt  was  rather  monotonous.  Primitive  peoples 
affect  an  observer  very  much  as  do  the  animals  in 
a  monkey  cage ;  the  pranks  of  the  pre-homos  enter- 
tain for  a  while,  but  tire  us  with  their  uninventive 
sameness.  Naked  fellahs  drawing  water  from  the 
Nile,  short-skirted  boys  driving  donkeys  with  sticks, 
camels  grunting  their  dissatisfaction  with  labor 
laws,  fakirs  and  snake-charmers  practicing  the 
tricks  that  Aaron  worsted  them  in  three  thousand 
years  ago,  villages  of  wattles  and  sun-dried  mud, — 
these  set  off  ruined  temples  and  pyramids  as  crawl- 
ing moths  adorn  an  ancient  burial  pall.  So  I 
sought  easement  for  my  new  passion  for  novelty  by 
going  to  Palestine. 


246  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

Entertaining  Royalty. 

But  monotony  followed  me.  Where  the  railroad 
joined  the  Suez  Canal  our  company  of  tourists  were 
met  by  a  handsome  white-mustached  gentleman 
who  introduced  himself  as  Count  de  Lesseps,  the 
promoter  of  the  big  endeavor. 

Said  he,  "  Gentlemen,  the  Crown  Prince  Rudoli)li 
of  Austria  is  about  to  visit  the  Holy  Land.  In  a 
few  moments  he  will  arrive  at  the  dock.  I  suggest 
that  all  the  Europeans  in  the  place^and  you  and  I 
are  about  all  there  are  of  such  worthies — give  him 
a  welcome  to  this  ancient  land." 

As  it  would  be  a  novel  sensation  for  a  democratic 
American  to  be  introduced  to  even  a  small  lump  of 
royalty,  I  joined  the  Committee  of  Recejjtion.  A 
half-dozen  of  us,  representing  as  many  different 
nationalities,  arrayed  in  white  helmets,  tarbooshes, 
caps  or  slouched  hats  and  dusters,  enacted  the  court 
scene,  received  His  Royal  Highness's  smiles,  and 
the  handshake  of  his  attendants. 

The  next  day  the  canal  brought  me  to  Port  Said. 
The  major  domo  of  our  hotel  announced, — "  Gentle- 
men, the  Crown  Prince  Rudolph  of  Austria  is  about 
to  visit  the  Holy  Land.  In  a  few  moments  he  will 
arrive  at  the  dock.  You  are  asked  to  take  part  in 
welcoming  him."  I  basked  again  in  the  smile  of  the 
House  of  Hapsburg,  but  noticed  that  said  smile  had 
a  sort  of  interrogation-mark  twist  to  it  as  he  sur- 
veyed our  faces. 

We  booked  for  Joppa.  A  cholera  scare  had  led 
the  authorities  of  Port  Said  to  refuse  landing  to  the 


BEST  CUKES  247 

passengers  just  arrived  from  the  northern  coast. 
They  must  return  by  the  same  ship  that  brought 
them.  Hence  I  could  not  secure  a  berth,  but  slept 
on  deck  under  the  eavesdroppings  of  a  rather  foggy 
heaven,  wedged  in  between  two  families  of  un- 
washed Arabs,  and  sharing  with  them — I  will  not 
say  what.    My  dreams  were  monotonous. 

At  Joppa  the  port-master  received  us  with  the 
enthusiastic  news, — "  Gentlemen,  the  Crown  Prince 
Rudolj)h  of  Austria  is  about  to  visit  the  Holy  Land. 
In  a  few  moments  he  will  be  at  the  dock.  Be  so 
kind  as  to  assist  in  welcoming  him." 

I  can  appreciate  the  apparent  nonchalance  of  dis- 
tinguished actors  in  repeating  for  the  tenth  time 
their  recall  before  the  footlights.  Even  this  triple 
favor  of  the  royal  smile  had  lost  its  zest,  notwith- 
standing that  said  smile  had  now  elongated  itself 
into  a  laugh  as  the  Prince  recognized  the  old  gang 
of  his  friends  and  admirers.  I  have  a  notion  that 
he  prized  our  welcome  as  the  actress  who  recognizes 
the  same  bouquet  in  its  successive  appearances  en- 
joys the  scent  of  the  flowers.  Several  of  the 
Prince's  suite  closely  invested  our  company  so  that 
we  could  not  have  drawn  dirk  or  pistol  to  assassi- 
nate His  Brevet  Majesty  if  we  had  been  so  dis- 
posed. 

Joppa  was  in  excitement.  Almost  every  horse 
that  was  neither  blind  nor  spavined  had  been  en- 
gaged for  the  royal  cortege.  Tourists  were  allowed 
to  select  from  the  residue.  My  own  beast  could 
only  limp  on  four  legs  and  canter  or  gallop  on  three. 


248  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

which  promised  some  new  sensation  to  relieve  any 
otherwise  monotonous  happenings  of  the  journey. 

In  courtesy  we  allowed  the  more  splendid 
princely  retinue  of  Austria  to  precede  us  on  the 
road  up  to  Jerusalem.  But  royal  dust  is  as  dis- 
agreeable as  any  other  kind  of  dust  to  a  democrat ; 
so,  at  a  turn  in  the  highway,  in  spite  of  the  protesta- 
tions of  our  dragoman,  we  took  a  short  cut  across 
a  field  full  of  boulders,  and  made  our  triumi)hal 
entry  into  the  city  some  hours  ahead  of  the  national 
guest.  We  were  hardly  quartered  at  our  hotel  when 
an  official,  in  bagged  trousers  pinned  fast  at  the 
waist  by  sundry  stilettos  and  pistols,  announced, — - 
"  Gentlemen,  the  Crown  Prince  Rudolph  of  Austria 
is  about  to  enter  the  Holy  City.  Be  kind  enough  to 
assist  at  his  reception  at  the  Joppa  Gate."  I  did 
so;  but  I  could  not  avoid  the  feeling  that,  by  my 
ubiquitous  nearness  to  His  Majesty,  I  had  come  to 
be  looked  upon  as  a  possible  Ravaillac  or  Wilkes 
Booth. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  loitering  about  the  Tem- 
ple Plaza  on  Mount  Zion  when  my  meditations  were 
interrupted  by  another  bedizzened  official,  who  in- 
formed me,  in  a  tone  so  gentle  that  it  suggested 
bakhshish,  that  the  Crown  Prince  Rudolph  of  Aus- 
tria was  about  to  visit  the  sacred  precinct.  Would 
I  like  to  join  in  welcoming  him  at  the  Mosque  of 
Omar? 

I  have  taken  a  prejudice  against  the  whole  family 
of  Francis  Joseph,  which  no  reading  of  its  history, 
not  even  the  tragic  taking  off  of  Rudolph,  has  less- 


KEST  CURES  249 

ened ;  and  am  prej^ared  to  agree  with  most  writers 
that  Austria  was  for  a  thousand  years  an  interna- 
tional nuisance,  which  has  at  length  been  cleaned 
off  the  face  of  the  earth,  together  Avith  all  its  race 
of  princelings. 

Camping  and  Tramping. 

There  is  no  place  like  Palestine  for  great,  soul- 
affecting  imi^ressions,  that  is,  if  one  will  take  time 
for  them  to  soak  in.  I  absorbed  a  fortnight's  worth 
of  them  in  the  vicinity  of  Jerusalem,  and  then 
started  north  for  quicker  sensations.  The  first  night 
out  we  had  a  congenial  brain-shaking.  Our  camp 
was  attacked  by  robbers  who  looted  several  tents. 
We  had  in  our  company  a  high  church  clergyman, 
who  was  as  punctilious  in  the  matter  of  clerical 
dress  as  he  was  confident  of  his  own  ordination  of 
heaven.  His  duty  to  "  the  cloth  "  was  not  affected 
by  the  scorching  heat  of  the  sun,  the  dry  dust  that 
turned  his  once  black  suit  into  the  likeness  of  a 
white  shroud,  the  saddle  wear  on  his  trousers  rump 
and  calf,  nor  the  scanty  toilet  of  the  camp.  At 
daybreak  we  were  aroused  by  this  gentleman's 
agonizing  outcry,  "We  are  robbed!  We  are 
robbed ! " 

Eushing  from  our  various  tents  we  saw  a  sight 
that  sent  the  shivers  through  several  female  hearts. 
There  stood  the  valiant  man,  panoplied  in  all  his 
proprieties — almost.  Notwithstanding  his  fright 
he  had  adjusted  his  shovel  hat,  buttoned  his  high- 
cut  vest,  gotten  his  round  collar  properly  back  side 


250  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

front,  hung  the  golden  cross  at  the  right  spot  over 
his  stomach; — he  had  forgotten  nothing — except 
his  trousers !  These  doubtless  the  diminutive  size  of 
his  mirror  had  led  him  to  overlook.  I  have  often 
thought  of  him  as  the  most  faithful  of  the  Scribes. 
No  "  mint,  anise  or  cummin  "  would  he  have  omit- 
ted, although,  perhaps  through  inadvertence,  he 
might  have  forgotten  some  "weightier  matter  of 
the  law." 

Our  dragoman  was  a  daring  fellow.  Said  he,  "  If 
I  permit  this  robbery  by  the  Arabs  to  go  unpun- 
ished I  can  never  come  again  this  way  with  safety." 
As  there  was  no  law  in  those  parts  we  were  accom- 
panied by  forty  stalwart  Lebanon  men.  With  these 
the  dragoman  made  a  raid  on  the  neighboring  Arab 
village,  brought  back  a  captive,  and  beat  him 
soundly  in  sight  of  his  own  people. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  this  man  is  guilty? 
Why  not  try  him  first?  "  we  asked. 

Farah  replied,  "  Then  I  could  never  punish  him 
at  all,  for  an  Arab  can  lie  himself  out  of  any  of- 
fense." 

He  tied  the  presumed  robber's  hands  behind  his 
back,  haltered  him  to  a  mule,  and  marched  him  all 
day  under  the  eye  of  a  Lebanon  man  to  Shechem. 
Result, — the  culprit  escaped,  carrying  with  him  the 
contents  of  his  guard's  pocket.  I  understand  why 
the  gamin  of  New  York,  whom  the  redoubtable 
Thackeray  confessed  that  he  could  never  outwit, 
are  called  "  street  Arabs." 

Our  dragoman  warned  us  almost  daily  not  to 


BEST  CURES  251 

wander  away  from  the  main  column,  lest  we  should 
be  cut  off  and  held  for  ransom.  Neglect  of  this 
advice  gave  us  another  brain-shake. 

A  Druse  village  hangH  on  one  of  the  steep  slopes 
of  Hermon,  like  a  wasjis'  nest  on  a  house-side.  So 
close  are  the  houses  that  the  roof  of  one  dwelling 
serves  as  the  door-yard  of  the  one  above  it.  Our 
party  entered  the  village  from  the  valley  below.  As 
soon  as  we  were  seen  the  whole  population,  men, 
women,  naked  children  and  dogs,  came  leaping 
down  from  roof  to  roof,  as  if  to  repel  an  attack.  I 
wished  that  our  dragoman  had  not  told  us  that  the 
Druses  were  the  most  ferocious  tribesmen  on  Leba- 
non; how  a  few  years  before  they  had  murdered 
eleven  thousand  Christians  in  their  bloody  zeal- 
otry ;  how  Sitt  Naaify,  a  she-devil  and  their  leader, 
had  urged  them  to  leave  alive  no  Christian  between 
seven  and  seventy  years  old.  Our  fears  were,  how- 
ever, somewhat  allayed  by  the  news  that  Sitt  had 
"  gone  to  her  own  place,"  and  when  last  heard  from 
was  on  the  river  Styx,  where  she  had  taken  in  a 
heavy  laundering  job  of  washing  the  blood-marks 
from  her  own  soul. 

The  Druses,  finding  that  we  came  peaceably,  were 
quite  friendly.  This  they  showed  by  their  personal 
interest  in  everything  we  had,  hats,  coats,  shoe- 
strings, and,  unless  you  happened  to  have  your  own 
hands  in  them,  the  contents  of  your  pockets. 

Three  of  our  party  who  were  Americans  were  in- 
duced by  our  racial  curiosity  to  visit  the  Sheikh 
who  had  come  to  see  the  meaning  of  the  tumult. 


252  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

This  worthy  had  a  face  as  broad  as  a  lion's,  and 
similarly  framed  with  light  tawny  hair.  It  would 
have  been  attractive  but  for  his  eyes,  one  of  which 
turned  upward,  the  other  downward,  leaving  in  our 
minds  a  doubt  as  to  his  character  which  was  not 
settled  by  the  denouement  of  the  story.  He  invited 
us  into  his  house,  stepped  out  of  his  sandals,  curled 
up  barefoot  on  his  rug,  and  bade  us  to  make  our- 
selves equally  at  home.  This  we  proceeded  to  do, 
when  our  host  suddenly  exploded  in  what  seemed  to 
us  a  fit  of  spontaneous  combustion.  He  raged  at 
one  of  our  number  who  had  trodden  his  rug  without 
removing  his  boots.  The  hubbub  brought  a  crowd 
of  Druses  about  and  into  the  house.  We  appointed 
one  of  us  to  do  the  honors  for  the  others ;  to  take  off 
his  boots,  and  curl  up  beside  our  host.  All  was 
amiability  for  a  moment  or  two,  until  we  discovered 
that  a  most  diabolical-looking  Druse  had  appropri- 
ated the  boots,  and  paraded  before  the  crowd  ad- 
miring his  dirty  legs  in  their  splendid  ending.  In 
vain  we  demanded  the  restoration  of  the  boot-y. 
"  Bakhshish !  Bakhshish !  "  was  the  cry  of  the 
crowd.  Hands  were  stretched  out,  fumbling  our 
watch-chains,  and  feeling  the  bulges  made  by  our 
pocketbooks.  Physical  resistance  was  out  of  the 
question.  "  Divide  and  conquer  "  is  an  old  mili- 
tary maxim.  We  tried  it.  Touching  with  my  finger 
the  hairy  breast-bone  of  the  Sheikh,  I  said,  with 
voice  as  heroic  as  the  tremor  of  my  muscles  permit- 
ted : — "  Good  Sheikh  bakhshish !  All  bakhshish  to 
good  Sheikh !  "    Then  with  a  look  of  as  much  with- 


REST  CURES  253 

ering  scorn  as  I  thought  safe  to  display,  I  turned 
to  the  crowd, — "  No  bakhshish !  " 

This  appeal  to  the  Sheikh's  cupidity  Avorked  like 
the  charmed  words  we  read  about  in  an  Arabian 
tale.  He  seized  the  thief,  literally  shook  hiin  out  of 
his  boots,  and  with  loud  outcry  drove  the  crowd 
away. 

What  sum  should  we  pay  Old  Mammon  for  our 
ransom?  We  prepared  to  divide  our  fortunes.  I 
took  from  my  pocket  a  handful  of  silver  coins,  in- 
tending to  delve  deeper  for  yellow  metal.  But  the 
Sheikh's  lower  eye  was  fascinated  with  the  white 
gleam.  I  gave  him  an  English  half-crown.  He  was 
as  delighted  as  a  child.  He  kissed  my  hand,  and  led 
us  three  Americans  back  to  our  company, 

"  It  turned  out  all  right,"  commented  our  drago- 
man, "  but  if  that  old  humbug  hadn't  known  that  I 
was  Farah  of  Zahleh,  in  charge  of  this  expedition, 
he  would  have  scraped  you  down  to  the  skin.  Don't 
be  so  foolish  again." 

At  Damascus  I  had  another  excitement  of 
"  goose-flesh."  A  Mohammedan  gentleman  of 
widest  burnoose,  a  Past  Master  in  the  Masonic  Fra- 
ternity, showed  us  the  utmost  courtesy.  He  was 
a  man  of  unusual  beauty  of  countenance,  almost 
femininely  amiable,  and  with  a  voice  that  would 
not  have  frightened  a  nightingale  from  singing  in 
the  bush  under  his  window.  His  home  was  pala- 
tial, and  furnished  with  even  Oriental  extrava- 
gance, though  with  perfect  taste.  His  manner  and 
environment  betokened  the  gentlest  of  souls. 


254  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

But  a  large  hall  in  the  dwelling  was  devoted  to 
the  storage  of  arms.  Pendant  from  the  walls, 
stacked  in  corners,  loaded  into  boxes  to  be  carried 
away  in  sudden  emergency,  were  all  sorts  of  weap- 
ons, bludgeons,  cutlasses,  rapiers,  bayonets,  pistols, 
rifles.  When  I  asked  him  through  our  interpreter 
the  occasion  of  such  an  accumulation,  he  replied  as 
amiably  as  a  girl  showing  her  jewels, — "  To  kill 
Christians.'^ 

This  man  had  been  the  leader  of  the  great  mas- 
sacre in  1860,  the  witness  of  which  is  the  crowded 
cemetery  just  outside  the  city  gate. 

I  thought,  "  This  murderer  and  I  belong  to  the 
same  humanity.  There  is  in  us  both  the  hidden  dy- 
namite of  cruelty  that  the  jostling  of  sudden  hate, 
or  even  the  scratching  of  bigotry,  may  explode.  Yes, 
my  ancestors  slew  his  ancestors  on  these  same  fields 
during  that  racial  insanity  called  the  Crusades. 
And  back  of  that  our  forebears  doubtless  brained 
one  another  in  the  Stone  Age  in  their  fights  for 
their  caves  and  harems." 

An  affair  at  Baalbek  made  us  realize  that  the 
strife  of  Christian  and  Paynim  was  not  yet  over. 
We  were  accustomed  to  send  our  tent-makers  and 
cooks  an  hour  ahead  of  us,  so  that  at  nightfall  we 
would  not  be  belated  with  dinner  and  rest.  On  our 
arrival  that  day  at  the  famous  ruin  there  Avas  no 
sign  of  our  helpers.  The  sunset  reddened  the  big 
stones,  as  when  they  once  dripped  with  the  bloody 
sacrifice  to  Baal.  Later  the  stars  nested  like  white 
doves  in  the  tall  columns  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter. 


BEST  CURES  255 

But  Yusef  and  Yakub,  our  chief  butler  and  chief 
balver  and  their  attendant  satellites,  did  not  appear. 
It  was  late  in  the  night  before  they  arrived.  Some 
were  limping,  some  were  bruised  on  head,  back  or 
shins.  One  or  two  showed  dangerous  wounds. 
They  had  evidently  been  through  a  fearful  battle. 

Their  story  was  that  as  they  were  going  quietly 
through  a  Moslem  village  they  were  set  upon  by  the 
entire  population.  They  defended  themselves  as 
they  were  able,  but  failed  to  rescue  several  pieces  of 
baggage  which  the  assailants  had  captured  during 
the  melee. 

We  made  complaint  at  the  local  court  of  the 
pashalic.  The  accused  villagers  were  summoned  to 
answer.  A  number  of  their  chief  men  came.  On 
our  side  a  dozen  honest-looking  fellows  testified, 
and  corroborated  their  testimony  with  the  evidence 
of  cuts  and  bruises.  They  estimated  their  assail- 
ants at  a  hundred.  On  the  other  side  of  the  case 
was  only  one  witness.  He  was  an  old  and  very  de- 
crepit man  who  hobbled  on  a  crutch.  This  witness 
declared,  by  his  hoi)e  of  Paradise,  that,  the  day  hav- 
ing been  a  local  saint's  day,  all  the  men  of  the  vil- 
lage except  himself  had  been  away  at  the  tomb ;  that 
these  Lebanon  marauders  made  an  attack  upon  the 
women  and  children;  that  he  alone,  with  that  same 
crutch,  had  defended  the  place,  cracking  this  man's 
skull,  gashing  that  man's  back,  and  driving  the 
whole  unbelieving  horde  pell-mell  out  of  the  village. 
A  roar  of  laughter  from  both  sides  greeted  this  bom- 
bastic but  evident  lie.    Then  the  judge  deliberated. 


256  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

From  his  alternate  grins  and  frowns  it  was  clear 
that  his  judgment  was  somewhat  puzzled.  At 
length  came  the  momentous  decision, — "  Since  on 
the  one  side  are  various  stories  from  we  know  not 
whom,  while  on  the  other  side  is  the  word  of  a  good 
and  worthy  Mohammedan  well  known  to  us,  we 
must  decide  that  the  strangers  have  no  grievance." 

Then  up  rose  our  valiant  dragoman.  "  I  am 
Farah  Maloup  of  Zahleh.  I  see  by  your  blanching 
that  you  know  that  name.  Unless  within  twenty- 
four  hours  our  baggage  is  restored,  and  an  apology 
sent,  I  swear  by  the  biggest  stone  in  these  ruined 
walls,  that  I  will  return  with  five  hundred  of  the 
young  men  of  Zahleh.    We  will  burn  your  town." 

The  judge  and  the  chief  men  among  the  villagers 
were  in  a  quandary.  Zahleh  could  exterminate 
them.  They  consulted.  They  apologized.  The  next 
day  our  baggage  was  safely  in  camp. 

My  "  change  of  thought "  required  several  more 
doses.  At  Beirut  I  was  taken  sick.  A  good  mis- 
sionary and  his  wife  sought  me  out,  took  me  from 
the  hotel,  and  nursed  me  back  to  travelling  health. 
While  convalescing  I  visited  a  large  female  Bible 
class.  There  were  over  a  hundred  young  women. 
To  get  the  real  beauty  of  blushes  occasioned  by  the 
kissing  of  the  Syrian  sun,  one  must  see  many  to- 
gether, as  we  get  the  color  of  the  waves  of  the  sea 
from  their  multitudinous  movement.  Black  eyes 
and  black  hair,  set  off  by  snow-white  veils  jauntily 
adjusted  at  one  side,  in  mute  i)rotest  against  the 
enslavement  of  the  harem,  made  me  wish  that  the 


REST  CURES  257 

•vromen  in  our  home  churches  could  witness  such  a 
scene,  and  lay  aside  their  kaleidoscopic  head-gear 
during  worship.  It  would  add  very  materially  to 
the  "  beauty  of  holiness." 

A  very  touching  thing  occurred.  While  the 
leader  of  the  class  was  speaking  to  these  people,  I 
noticed  that  they  turned  and  looked  at  me  as  if  with 
peculiar  interest.  After  the  service  I  asked  the  mis- 
sionary the  occasion  of  this,  since  I  regarded  my- 
self as  a  total  stranger  to  them. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  was  telling  them  that  the  gen- 
tleman on  the  platform  is  the  father  of  Davie." 

"  But  what  do  they  know  of  my  Davie?  " 

"  Why,  I  translated  the  story  of  your  blind  child 
to  them,  as  I  read  it  in  an  American  journal.  They 
all  know  Davie." 

The  sea  is  wide.  The  gulf  between  races  is  often 
wider.  But  personal  sympathy  will  bridge  them 
both. 

On  my  return  home  I  told  this  story  to  my  neigh- 
bors. In  their  kindly  remembrance  of  the  little 
fellow  they  insisted  upon  raising  a  fund  with  which 
they  endowed  a  perpetual  scholarship  in  Beirut 
Syrian  College,  as  a  memorial  of  the  lad's  brief  but 
heroic  life. 

Some  Human  Curios. 

There  frequently  camped  near  us  in  our  Journey 
through  Palestine  an  English  gentleman  who  was 
travelling  with  his  niece.  We  exchanged  visits, 
jogged  along  together  at  times,  and  thus  became 


258  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

well  acquainted.  At  Beirut  tliis  gentleman  came 
to  us  in  great  alarm.  His  niece  had  announced  lier 
engagement  in  marriage  to  tlie  dragoman  of  their 
party.  This  dragoman  was  a  handsome  fellow ;  an 
American,  by  the  way.  His  father  had  been  a  re- 
ligious crank,  and  had  gone  to  the  Holy  Land  an- 
ticipating the  Second  Coming  of  Christ  on  Mount 
Zion.  If  the  young  man  had  forgotten  his  religion, 
he  had  not  forgotten  his  Shakespeare,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  play  the  Othello  to  any  heiress  whom  he 
could  impress  with  his  romances  of  adventure,  or 
lure  with  his  marvellous  j)rospects  of  building  a 
"  Castle  in  Syria." 

The  niece  was  obdurate  in  her  j)urpose  to  remain 
in  the  land,  and  devote  a  large  fortune,  which  she 
held  in  her  own  name,  to  the  establishment  of  an 
estate,  and  the  spreading  of  her  husband's  fame. 
We  advised  the  gentleman  to  take  his  niece  back  to 
England. 

"  But  the  British  Consul  declares  that  would  be 
an  illegal  act,  as  the  woman  is  of  legal  age." 

Farah,  our  dragoman,  cut  the  Gordian  Knot. — 
"  Take  her  by  force.  If  you  don't,  we  other  drago- 
mans— and  there  are  a  score  of  us  now  in  town — 
will  murder  the  bridegroom,  so  that  we  will  have  a 
funeral  prelude  to  the  wedding." 

We  Americans  agreed  to  countenance  the  abduc- 
tion by  our  presence,  and  the  plan  was  adopted. 
When  the  lady  heard  of  it  she  attempted  suicide  by 
throwing  herself  from  the  hotel  window.  But  big 
Farah   rescued  her.     A   j)rocession   was   formed, 


REST  CURES  259 

Farah  taking  one  of  her  arms,  her  uncle  the  other, 
our  party  closely  investing  so  that  the  crowd  was 
not  attracted  by  the  lady's  resistance,  and  twenty 
other  dragomans  making  an  outer  defense  against 
any  attack  by  the  infuriated  Othello.  Thus  the 
lady  was  deposited  on  the  Austrian  Lloyd  steamer. 

Some  weeks  later,  while  wandering  about  the 
Acropolis  at  Athens,  I  came  upon  the  English 
party.  As  the  lady  knew  of  my  complicity  in  the 
affair  at  Beirut,  I  attempted  to  avoid  them.  But 
the  young  woman  pursued  me.  She  called  me  by 
name,  and  with  such  kindliness  that  I  could  not  re- 
sist her  i)ersuasion  to  "  come  and  see  Uncle  Ben !  " 
Uncle  Ben,  the  first  greeting  over,  whispered, — 
"  She  has  no  remembrance  of  the  affair." 

In  this  surmise  I  am  sure  that  he  was  correct,  for 
while  she  spoke  freely  of  other  matters,  and  even 
of  her  dragoman,  she  showed  not  the  slightest  inter- 
est in  him,  beyond  remarking  that  he  was  a  great 
braggart. 

Six  months  later  I  received  from  the  gentleman 
a  letter  which  read, — "  You  will  be  glad  to  learn 
that  my  niece  has  been  happily  married  to  Mr. 

,  of  London,  to  whom  she  had  been  engaged 

for  several  years." 

Alas !  How  unreliable  is  the  human  brain !  Men- 
tal machinery  often  gets  "a  bug  in  its  wheels." 
Some  things  in  my  own  life, — and  in  the  lives  of 
some  of  my  friends — have  been  so  decidedly  foolish 
that  they  seem  to  have  been  due  to  lapse  of  intelli- 
gence. 


260  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

Still  searching  for  change  of  thought  I  took  a 
small  coasting  steamer  at  Beirut,  and  explored  the 
Eastern  Mediterranean.  I  was  absolutely  alone  so 
far  as  home  companions  went,  and  thus  dependent 
for  conversation  upon  such  chance  acquaintances  as 
I  might  be  able  to  impress  with  the  choicest  selec- 
tion and  most  careful  handling  of  my  personal 
qualities. 

This  is  a  profitable  way  to  travel.  It  prevents 
one  from  developing  his  own  idiosyncrasies,  as  one 
is  apt  to  do  when  thrown  constantly  with  those  so 
familiar  to  us  that  we  do  not  feel  the  restraint  of 
their  presence.  Talking  with  strangers  one  treats 
them  as  one  treats  guests,  giving  them  better  en- 
tertainment than  we  indulge  our  own  families  in. 
Besides,  when  our  travelling  company  is  made  up 
of  home  familiars  much  of  the  conversation  is  re- 
garding matters  across  the  seas,  which  we  have  pre- 
sumably desired  to  forget.  Our  interest  is  divided. 
It  is  not  easy  for  a  group  of  persons  to  make  indi- 
vidual acquaintances  outside  the  group.  Thus,  be- 
ing alone,  I  was  free  to  devote  myself  entirely  to  my 
foreign  surroundings,  and  to  study  new  and  strange 
companions. 

One  such  person  I  must  tell  about,  because  of  my 
interest  in  the  character  she  revealed.  Her  face 
was  as  unprepossessing  as  one  would  find  outside 
an  Arab  mummy-case.  She  seemed  to  have  been 
desiccated  by  the  winds,  and  discolored  by  the  dust 
of  the  desert.  She  weighed  less  than  seventy-five 
pounds,  and  was  encased  in  a  leather-like  skin.    Yet 


BEST  CURES  261 

there  was  something  fascinating  about  her  top- 
heavy  brow,  and  eyes  emitting  flashes  of  black  light. 

I  first  descried  her  standing  on  the  top  rail  of  the 
deck,  superintending  the  lifting  of  a  score  of  Arab 
mares  from  a  lighter  into  the  ship.  As  the  last  of 
the  animals  was  swung  in  between  decks  a  Turkish 
offtcial  arrived.  He  read  the  law  against  the  de- 
portation of  horses,  and  demanded  the  instant  re- 
turn of  the  beasts  to  the  shore.  The  woman  gave 
him  a  volley  of  abuse  in  Turkish,  which  was  punc- 
tuated with  profanity  sufficiently  cosmopolitan  to 
be  understood  by  bystanders  of  whatever  national- 
ity. During  this  episode  the  ship  raised  anchor, 
and  we  were  off. 

A  tall  Englishman  later  introduced  me  to  the 
woman  as  his  wife.     Quite  naturally  I  addressed 

her  as  Mrs. ,  using  her  husband's  name.    A 

neighbor  corrected  me  aside.  She  was  Lady , 

the  granddaughter  of  Lord .  My  astonish- 
ment was  increased  when  I  learned  that  her  worn 
de  plume  was  that  of  an  English  authoress,  well 
known  for  the  grace  of  her  pen,  whose  books  I  had 
read  with  delight. 

Which  was  she  at  heart — the  coarse  virago  I  had 
seen  on  the  ship-rail,  or  the  refined  intellect  I  had 
read?  For  two  weeks  on  our  cruise  I  enjoyed  her 
table-talk,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  it  occa- 
sionally broke  into  stable-talk, — like  a  sore  on  a 
beautiful  face.  Yet  her  refinement  was  not  merely 
intellectual.  Now  and  then  she  revealed  great 
depths  of  soul,  passionately  pure  and  sympathetic. 


262  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

such  as  are  typical  of  tlie  finest  and  sweetest 
womanhood.  I  could  understand  how  that  big 
awkward  Englishman  had  fallen  in  love  with  her; 
and  also  how  at  times  his  commoner  qualities  were 
congenial  to  her.  But  how  account  for  the  incon- 
gruities in  herself?  How  does  the  black  streak  get 
into  the  Parian  marble? 

On  this  same  steamer  was  a  British  officer  of 
rank,  Colonel — later  Sir — Charles  Wilson.  He 
was  distinguished  for  service  in  the  army,  but  was 
now  filling  high  civil  position.  Our  vessel  sailed 
only  at  night,  so  that  our  days  were  free  for  inland 
explorations.  Wherever  we  went  the  Colonel  was 
well  known.  He  arranged  many  a  delightful  excur- 
sion for  our  party,  but  he  himself  seemed  to  have 
absorbing  business  elsewhere.  He  surprised  us 
with  his  detailed  knowledge  of  places,  roads,  indi- 
viduals, customs.  In  reply  to  my  expression  of 
amazement  at  all  this,  he  replied, — "  Oh,  Ave  Brit- 
ish officers  are  supposed  to  know  everything  about 
everywhere.  But  for  that  the  Empire  could  not 
build  itself  up.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  leave  you, 
and  make  my  seventeenth  journey  between  Smyrna 
and  Trebizond.  Yes,  I  am  somewhat  familiar  with 
Egypt  where  you  have  been.  Let  me  see  your 
pocket  map."  He  made  a  small  circle  east  of  the 
Nile.  "  Now  for  a  prophecy.  Trouble  is  brewing 
there.    If  we  have  a  fight  it  will  be  near  that  spot." 

Two  years  later  Arabi  Bey's  Rebellion  broke  out. 
The  world  complained  that  the  English  did  not 
chase  him  across  the  deserts.     But  one  dav  there 


KEST  CUKES  263 

came  the  news  of  tlie  battle  of  Tel-el-Kebir,  in 
which  the  rebel  was  vanquished  at  a  blow.  It  was 
at  the  centre  of  my  circle. 

I  then  made  a  mental  note  for  my  guidance  in 
reading  future  history : — "  England  will  be  strong 
and  conquering,  not  so  much  because  of  the  genius 
of  individual  leaders,  but  rather  because  of  a  per- 
sistent policy  which  all  leaders  understand,  an  aim 
toward  which  all  can  direct  their  energies,  move- 
ments carefully  anticipated,  and  prejmrations  pa- 
tiently  made.  On  the  contrary  our  own  country  is 
living  haphazard.  An  emergency,  of  either  danger 
or  opportunity,  may  find  us  totally  unprepared." 
Recent  events  have  not  occasioned  any  change  of 
mind. 

If  my  vacation  did  not  give  me  the  needed 
change  of  thought  it  was  not  because  of  any  lack  of 
changing  scenes.  I  had  nosed  into  every  nook  from 
Alexandria  to  Alexandretta,  and  under  the  Taurus 
Mountains,  through  the  ^gean,  from  the  Dar- 
danelles to  the  Black  Sea,  and  through  the  Gulf  of 
Corinth  to  Italy.  Dead  Pharaohs  in  their  cofftns 
and  the  sore-eyed  children  of  Egypt  to-day,  Phoeni- 
cian gods  and  the  lying  descendants  of  those  who 
once  worshipped  them,  Homeric  heroes  and  the 
same  sea-sick  seas  upon  which  they  were  tossed, 
the  cataclysmic  scenes  of  the  Book  of  Revelation 
and  the  islands  around  Patmos  which  were  still 
rocking  with  "  mighty  earthquake," — these  had  all 
contributed  to  my  diversion.  My  mind  was  stuffed 
to  cracking  with  heterogeneous  recollections,  not 


264  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

unlike  the  mass  of  si^oil  the  Venetians  took  from 
conquered  Constantinople,  which,  has  not  yet, 
after  six  hundred  years,  been  catalogued  logically, 
chronologically,  mythologically  or  theologically. 
Could  my  cranium  ever  be  changed  from  a  garret 
into  a  museum? 

I  stopped  at  Rome  to  let  my  brain  rest,  after  in 
so  brief  a  time  having  been  transformed  from  a 
l^rovincial  American  into  a  cosmopolitan.  But  the 
Eternal  City  was  a  worse  jumble.  Here  antiquity, 
medievalism  and  modernity  in  its  maddest  fashions 
were  hurled  at  me  from  every  corner. 

Fortunately  I  found  in  Rome  a  philosopher  who 
metaphorically  trephined  me,  and  relieved  my  brain 
of  the  confusion  due  to  overpressure.  I  had  reached 
Rome  too  late  for  the  "  Season."  Thank  Heaven ! 
My  alhergo  had  but  a  half-dozen  guests.  One  gen- 
tleman greatly  impressed  me.  He  had  a  head  as 
ponderous  as  that  of  John  Bright  or  Gladstone, 
and  a  face  as  amiable  as  that  of  Martha  Wash- 
ington. 

"  Well,  Young  America,  where  have  you  been 
to-day?  "  was  his  introduction  as  he  accosted  me 
in  the  salon  after  dinner.  Then  followed  a  dis- 
course, historical,  archaeological  and  critical,  as 
illuminating  as  that  which,  thirty  years  after,  I 
enjoyed  from  Lanciani  or  Duchesne.  He  gave  me 
his  name  as  Blister  .  No  further  informa- 
tion was  secured  from  any  person  in  the  hotel. 
The  following  day  I  met  an  English  resident  of 
Rome,  and  mentioned  my  fellow  lodger's  erudition. 


REST  CURES  265 

"  Of  course,  you  are  impressed  with  it,  as  is  all 
the  rest  of  the  world.  He  is  the  great  Dr.,  Pro- 
fessor, Sir,  Fellow  of  the  A,  B,  C,  D,  down  to  Z 
Societies  of  Great  Britain,  Germany  and  Zululand. 
Let  me  give  you  a  hint.  He  is  in  Rome  prac- 
tically incog.  His  last  book  made  such  a  sensation 
that  he  has  come  to  Rome  in  the  summer  time  to 
escape  being  bored  by  admirers.  I  know  him  well 
enough,  but  he  has  not  even  notified  me  that  he  is 
here.  So  I  take  my  revenge  by  being  an  informant 
against  him.  He  has  the  keys  to  all  the  back-doors 
of  our  libraries,  galleries  and  archives;  but  he 
allows  nobody  to  have  access  to  his  quarters.  If 
you  should  '  Professor '  him,  or  intimate  that  you 
knew  him  he  would  shut  his  mouth  like  a  clam. 
But  he  is  naturally  a  chatty  old  fellow.  Lucky 
man,  you!  Only  respect  his  incog,  and  you  will 
find  him  a  whole  treasury." 

I  took  my  friend's  hint;  and  only  ''^Mistered" 
the  savant,  with  the  result  that  within  two  weeks. 
I  took  a  complete  post-graduate  course  in  history, 
art  and  philosophy,  with  three  or  four  hours'  daily 
private  coaching  from  one  of  the  foremost  educators 
in  the  world.  Thus  I  ended  my  quest  for  "  change 
of  thought "  by  acquiring  new  thoughts  that  have 
stood  by  for  over  a  third  of  a  century. 


XI 

FRIENDS 

Friends  Unlike  Ourselves, 

"I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy 
As  in  a  soul  remembering  my  good  friends. ' ' 

SO  said  Bolingbi'oke  in  Richard  II — and  so 
say  I.  Yet  my  experience  of  friendship  does 
not  lead  me  to  approve  of  some  of  the  stereo- 
typed laws  which  are  presumed  to  govern  that 
gentle  art.  For  example,  Shakespeare  makes 
Portia  say  that 

.     .     .     "in  companions 

There  must  needs  be  a  like  proportion 
Of  lineaments,  of  manners  and  of  spirit: 
Which  makes  me  think  that  this  Antonio, 
Being  the  bosom  lover  of  my  lord, 
Must  needs  be  like  my  lord." 

On  the  contrary,  my  closest  friends,  those  who 
have  most  attracted  me,  those  whose  love  has  been 
what  old  Kobert  Blair  called  "  the  mysterious 
cement  of  the  soul,"  and  have  held  me  to  them- 
selves in  lifelong  adhesion,  have  frequently  been 
very  unlike  myself.     As  a  rule  they  have  not  been 

266 


FRIENDS  267 

members  of  my  own  profession,  whom  I  meet  al- 
most daily  and  with  them  feed  upon  the  same 
mental  pabulum;  nor  were  they  those  in  my  im- 
mediate social  and  neighborhood  circles  with  whom 
I  am  supposed  to  have  identical  interests.  They 
have  been  rather  persons  who  have  happened  to 
cross  my  path  as  we  pursued  different  occupations, 
led  by  dissimilar  tastes,  and  often  aiming  at  diverse 
ideals.  As  two  drops  of  foreign  liquids,  having 
some  subtle  chemical  affinity,  unite  at  the  touch, 
so  have  we.  The  assimilative  property  in  each  has 
been  something  subtler  than  anything  I  find  in  our 
conventional  formulas  for  friendship ;  indeed,  some- 
thing that  passes  my  power  of  analysis. 

Some  one  has  said  that  we  should  "  choose  an 
author  as  we  choose  a  friend."  I  try  to ;  and,  there- 
fore, I  delight  chiefly  in  books  that  are  devoid  of 
the  technicalities  of  my  own  daily  occupation.  I 
love  a  style  as  diverse  from  my  own  spavined,  short- 
winded  verbiage  as  are  the  rhetorical  antipodes  of 
Carlyle  and  Addison.  Especially  fascinating  is  a 
philosophy  that  makes  me  while  reading  feel  that 
my  brain  is  being  elongated  in  spots,  even  if  it  be 
twisted  into  interrogation  points.  And  so  with  the 
choice  of  friends.  I  get  awfully  tired  of  myself; 
and  next  to  that  I  weary  of  the  monotonous  com- 
panionship of  people  Avho  always  agree  with  me. 

In  this  I  must  dissent  from  even  the  great  Cicero, 
whose  essay  on  Friendship  seems  to  have  been 
written  simply  "by  the  page,"  or  whose  habit  as 
an  hired  advocate  led  him  to  follow  up  a  subject 


268  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

as  lie  followed  up  a  case  in  litigation,  using  every 
possible  relevant  saying,  and  leaving  to  the  judges 
the  duty  of  rejecting  whatever  was  not  true.  The 
oratorical  philosopher  was  known  to  have  more 
egoism  than  friends,  else  his  experience  would  have 
refuted  his  notion  when  he  wrote, — "  Friendship 
is  a  perfect  conformity  of  opinions  upon  all  re- 
ligious and  civil  subjects,  united  with  the  highest 
degree  of  mutual  esteem  and  affection."  And 
again,  "Whoever  is  in  possession  of  a  true  friend 
sees  the  exact  counterpart  of  his  own  soul." 

Let  me  tell  of  some  of  my  friends,  and  of  what 
happy  fellowship  we  have  had  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  we  differed  in  ideas  and  tastes  as  much  as  the 
pieces  of  glass  in  a  kaleidoscope  differ  in  shape  and 
color,  yet  combine  in  marvellous  unity  of  reflected 
beauty. 

I  am  neither  an  artist  nor  a  scientist ;  yet  a  gen- 
tleman who  was  both,  and  was,  moreover,  so  ab- 
sorbed in  the  technicalities  of  his  double  pursuit 
that  I  could  not  understand  him  when  he  mounted 
either  of  his  favorite  hobbies,  admitted  me  to  his 
heart,  and  let  me  ramble  at  will  in  its  most  secluded 
chambers.  When  absent  we  corresponded.  There 
was  in  his  letters  no  "  art-study,"  except  an  occa- 
sional side-splitting  lead-pencil  caricature  of  men 
and  scenes  that  mere  language  could  not  depict; 
and  not  enough  science  to  determine  whether  he 
was  abroad  attending  a  meeting  of  the  British 
Association  or  a  cricket  match.  When  we  were 
together  we  told  each  other  our  secret  fears  and 


FRIENDS  269 

hopes.  We  never  "  talked  shop,"  for  that  was  ex- 
cluded by  our  mutual  ignorance  of  how  the  other 
kept  the  domestic  pot  boiling.  We  only  sat,  as  it 
were,  in  our  doorways  like  two  neighborly  house- 
wives, gossiping  about  the  jmssing  throng,  and 
looking  off  toward  the  common  horizon. 

We  liked  to  vacation  together  in  the  country. 
We  would  start  off  in  company  for  an  afternoon; 
he  with  his  easel  to  catch  some  secret  of  a  flying 
wing,  or  some  mystery  of  light  that  was  shredded 
by  the  almost  prismatic  bark  of  a  birch  or  beech 
tree;  I  with  my  rifle  and  a  copy  of  some  woodsy 
book,  to  rid  the  field  of  woodchucks  and  my  mind 
of  uncanny  things  that  had  burrowed  there.  A 
mile  or  two  from  home  we  would  part  so  as  not  to 
interrupt  each  other  in  what  he  called  our  idiot- 
syncrazies  (some  good  psychology  in  that),  only 
keeping  within  hallooing  distance  for  the  sense  of 
company.  In  the  early  gloaming  we  would  tramp 
homeward  with  the  familiarity  of  two  boys  who 
are  joint  partners  in  a  string  of  fish.  Then  what 
revels  o'  nights,  until  our  respective  spouses  grew 
jealous  of  us,  and  threatened  lawsuit  for  alienation 
of  marital  affections ! 

When  a  shadow  hung  over  me  that  was  too  sacred 
for  priestly  confessional,  this  man's  cheer  dispelled 
it.  And  to  me  he  one  day  told  a  dread  secret, 
known  only  to  himself  and  his  physician, — that 
death  was  not  far  away.  So  I  walked  with  him 
along  the  brink  until  his  foot  slii)ped  into  the  echo- 
less  abyss. 


270  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

Ever  since  then  I  have  felt  "  the  footsteps  of  his 
life  in  mine."  He  still  companions  me  in  rambles 
through  the  familiar  forest  and  glades.  I  think  he 
is  waiting  to  greet  me  just  beyond  the  Great  Woods ; 
and  when  I  meditate  about  the  last  stretch  home- 
ward I  imagine  that  I  hear  his  welcoming  halloo 
from  not  very  far  away.  How  that  takes  the  chill 
of  loneliness  out  of  an  old  fellow's  bones! 

But  we  were  so  different!  As  diverse  as  the 
notch  in  the  key  and  the  ward  in  the  lock ;  our  very 
unlikenesses  fitting  us  the  better  for  each  other. 
Some  day  we  will  understand  the  strange  mecha- 
nism of  friendship. 

I  am  not  an  autopsist  of  dead  languages ;  yet  one 
of  my  chums  from  boyhood  was  a  man  who 
dreamed  in  Greek,  except  when  his  nightmares  in- 
sisted on  whinnying  in  Latin. 

I  have  no  trade-gumption  or  taste,  yet  there  was 
a  business  devotee,  the  wheels  in  whose  head  were 
apparently  adapted  to  nothing  but  a  calculating 
machine  or  cash-register,  who  confessed  that  to 
drive  a  bargain  was  sweeter  to  him  than  music, 
sleep  or  dinner ;  but  he  would  bleed  his  pocketbook 
to  supply  any  whim  I  might  have.  I  would  do  the 
same  for  him,  although  I  had  not  sulficient  interest 
in  his  sort  of  life  to  even  look  over  my  butcher's 
monthly  account. 

Another  friend  sends  me  annual  volumes  contain- 
ing reports  of  his  expert  work  in  a  subject  that 
absorbs  his  mind  and  heart ;  but  which  I  would  not 
be  hired  to  read  without  substituting  in  my  in- 


FRIENDS  271 

surauce  policy  the  words  "  lunatic  asylum  "  for  the 
word  "  death."  But  no  table  of  statistics  would 
be  long  enough  to  record  the  items  of  kindliness 
which  for  a  half-century  have  passed  between 
us. 

I  think  also  of  a  group  of  very  humble  people, 
whose  lack  of  education  makes  sustained  conversa- 
tion upon  almost  any  subject  impossible.  But  we 
have  delightful  chats  over  the  fence  when  the  dog 
has  gone  to  gather  the  herd,  or  over  the  counter 
when  customers  are  slack,  or  in  the  little  parlor 
when  the  kids  have  gone  to  sleep  and  we  can  talk 
about  them  without  fielding  their  vanity.  Though 
these  people  cannot  tell  me  much  that  enlightens 
me,  I  love  to  hear  the  sound  of  their  voices  as  I  love 
Mendelssohn's  "  Songs  Without  Words."  Their 
faces  show  their  characters  written  in  hieroglyph. 
How  much  beauty  and  goodness  and  inner  charm  I 
have  learned  to  decipher  there!  There  are,  too, 
hand-shakes,  so  rough  and  hard  that  they  make 
one's  fingers  ache,  but  which  also  make  the  heart's 
blood  bound  to  livelier  pulse,  and  impart  health  to 
both  body  and  soul.  One  can  ax^preciate  what  is 
said  of  a  great  philosopher,  "  He  loved  to  be  with 
the  higher  spirits  and  the  lowly  ijeople." 

I  am  persuaded,  then,  that  sameness  of  intel- 
lectual, sesthetic,  cultural  or  even  of  religious  ideals 
has  little  to  do  with  the  reciprocity  of  souls. 

Antagonistic  Friends. 

I  will  go  even  further : — -Positive  antagonism  of 


272  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

opinions  and  tastes  do  not  menace  friendship.  We 
often  love  devotedly  those  whose  ideas  and  ideals 
excite  our  dissent. 

George  Eliot  at  one  time  thought  differently. 
She  sought  to  surround  herself  with  individuals 
belonging  to  her  school  of  ideas,  her  coterie  of 
prejudices.  She  believed  Cicero's  saying,  "  Friend- 
ship is  a  perfect  conformity  of  opinions."  In  later 
years  she  wrote :  "  I  have  had  many  heart-cutting 
experiences  that  opinions  are  a  very  poor  cement 
for  souls." 

Underlying  the  desire  to  be  with  those  who  agree 
with  us  in  opinion  is  apt  to  be  a  thick  layer  of 
selfish  love  and  conceit.  We  like  to  see  our  minds 
reflected  in  other  minds,  as  those  who  are  vain  of 
their  physical  appearance  delight  in  their  mirrors. 
Nobler,  if  not  happier,  are  they  who  prefer  to  have 
their  walls  hung  with  portraits  of  other  people 
rather  than  with  looking-glasses. 

Some  of  my  most  esteemed  and  helpful  friends 
have  been  those  with  whom  I  have  quarrelled, — let 
us  hope  only  in  an  amiable  way,  as  the  old  knights 
used  to  combat  their  brothers  and  neighbors  in  the 
tournament,  and  football  players  like  to  sprawl  out 
their  chums. 

One  such  good  comrade  I  picked  up  in  travelling. 
He  was  an  Englishman  at  a  time  when  our  inter- 
national relations  were  a  little  strained;  thickly 
English,  with  racial  peculiarities  exuding  from 
every  pore  and  dropping  in  "Lunnon"  accents 
from  his  tongue,  "  Don't  ye  know?  "    He  also  be- 


FRIENDS  273 

longed  to  that  branch  of  the  church  with  which  I 
have  the  least  sympathy,  and  religious  antipathies 
are  the  hardest  nuts  to  crack  in  free  conversa- 
tion. 

My  negative  and  I  were  stalled  for  the  same 
voyage  and  journey.  I  felt  at  the  prospect  much 
as  the  fabled  snake  felt  when  he  found  himself 
sharing  the  den  with  a  porcupine.  This  man  was 
bristling  with  dogmatism,  and  had  an  unamiable 
way  of  sticking  his  quills  out  without  provocation. 
I  felt  my  fangs  oiling  up  with  acerbity,  not  to  say 
with  a  little  of  the  poison  of  theological  rancor  that 
even  our  most  latitudinarian  bigots  must  confess 
sometimes  brews  under  their  tongues.    We  fell  to. 

I  soon  observed  that  my  comrade  was  a  man 
minutely  learned  in  the  history  of  his  own  cult, 
and  skillfully  trained  in  the  dialectics  that  support 
it.  I  learned  much  from  him,  not  only  relating  to 
the  subjects  we  discussed,  but  also  that  which  gave 
me  new  conceptions  of  human  nature,  the  many- 
sidedness  of  humanity,  how  you  can  cut  as  many 
facets  in  a  mind  as  in  a  diamond  and  each  facet  will 
shine  as  if  it  were  the  whole  thing. 

I  came  gradually  to  enjoy  my  enforced  com- 
panionship. I  liked  his  sharp  thrusts  at  my  opin- 
ions even  when  they  cut  my  skin.  We  became  true 
sports;  possibly  of  the  windy,  but  not  Thersites, 
sort.  We  wrangled  by  the  hour  on  shipboard.  We 
hurled  jibes  at  each  other  as  our  horses  stumbled 
over  the  rock-strewn  fields  of  Syria,  Our  drago- 
man complained  that  our  controversies  were  divid- 


274  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

ing  the  Arab  baggage-carriers  into  two  hostile 
camps,  as  they  favored  the  oue  or  the  other  of  us, 
according  to  our  tips,  doubtless,  for  they  couldn't 
understand  a  word  of  what  we  were  quarrelling 
about. 

At  a  far  eastern  port  our  itineraries  called  for  a 
parting  of  the  ways.  I  grew  lonesome  in  anticipa- 
tion. What  would  I  do  without  my  daily  exercise 
in  armor?  Late  at  night  my  Reverse  Ego  entered 
my  room :  "  Say,  you  heretic,  would  you  object  if 
I  changed  my  route  and  went  with  you?  "  I  was 
surprised  at  this,  for  several  birds  of  his  feather 
were  expected  to  join  him  on  the  other  course. 

So  we  resmned  our  campaign,  the  scenes  of  our 
journey  furnishing  opportune  battle-fields.  Turkey 
stirred  our  antagonism  over  Mahomet  and  the 
Koran.  The  sight  of  Greek  temples  revived  in  our 
breasts  the  controversies  between  Aristotelianism 
and  modern  thought.  Rome  made  us  furious  with 
Risorgimento  versus  Vaticanism.  We  metaphoric- 
ally drank  blood  out  of  each  other's  skulls — having 
previously  split  them.  There  was  really  nothing 
left  worth  fighting  about,  every  bone  of  contention 
having  been  chewed  up  between  us.  We  i)arted 
on  returning  to  Italy. 

I  took  the  day  train  for  Florence.  I  anticipated 
a  lonesome  time  even  in  the  Uffizi,  where  I  knew 
that  there  were  many  things  that  might  serve  to 

whet  our  sword-points  if  had  only  come 

along  with  me.  I  dreamed  of  him  that  night.  He 
looked  like  Goliath  of  Gath,  and  he  was  filling  his 


FRIENDS  275 

pockets  with  my  pebbles  from  the  brook,  using  up 
every  one  of  them. 

The  next  morning,  to  my  delighted  amaze- 
ment,   walked  quickly  into  my  hotel  break- 
fast room  and  took  his  seat  opposite  me.  He  said 
apologetically,  "  I  didn't  know  just  wliat  to  do  with 
myself  after  you  went  off ;  so  I  took  the  night  train 
and  came  too."  We  chummed  together  again  as 
affectionately  as  two  boarding-school  girls; — then 
disagreed  about  the  English  habit  of  having  jam 
instead  of  griddle-cakes  for  breakfast. 

I  am  persuaded  that  antagonism  of  opinions, 
where  both  parties  mix  their  contention  with  a 
sweet  reasonableness,  is  a  healthful  stimulant  for 
good  fellowship ;  that  contrariety  of  tastes  adds  to 
the  charm  of  intercourse,  where — to  borrow  a 
metaphor  from  the  inlayer's  art — there  is  a  sub- 
stratum of  courtesy  so  thick  that  the  insets  do  not 
cut  through  nor  break  it.  They  lose  immensely 
both  in  the  enjoyment  and  profit  of  life  who,  in- 
stead of  swinging  wide  open  the  doors  of  the  heart 
that  whoever  will  may  enter,  insist  on  cutting  small 
holes  adapted  to  their  own  size  and  shape,  that 
those  of  unlike  proportions  may  be  excluded.  I 
doubt  if  one  can  become  really  wise  who  does  not 
debate  with  dissidents,  or  cultured  without  being 
rounded  off  by  contact  with  those  whose  tastes  are 
different  from  his  own.  Even  our  ideals  may  be 
corrected  by  knowing  intimately  the  ideals  of  other 
persons  as  honest  as  ourselves,  though  they  locate 
their  stars  in  other  parts  of  the  heavens;  just  as 


276  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

the  place  aud  size  of  literal  stars  have  been  ac- 
curately determined  only  by  close  observation  of 
the  attraction  of  other  stars  that  belong,  it  may  be, 
to  different  constelbitions. 

I  cannot  understand  how  Nietzsche's  love  for 
Wagner  could  have  rested,  as  a  biographer  sug- 
gests, upon  his  admiration  of  the  musician's  work 
or  agreement  with  his  philosophical  speculations; 
nor  how  a  change  of  political  opinions  produced 
the  reaction  of  i^ersonal  hatred.  The  play  of  passion 
was  false,  and  must  have  been  due  to  the  conceit  of 
the  German  superman,  who  loved  nothing  that  he 
did  not  regard  as  a  reflection  of  himself, — the  be- 
ginning of  the  madness  of  egotism  that  brought 
him  ultimately  to  the  insane  asylum. 

Odd  Friendships. 

I  may  further  illustrate  from  my  own  experience 
the  fact  that  difference  of  tastes,  talents,  opinions, 
conditions  of  life  and  even  of  imputed  character,  do 
not  prevent  real  friendships. 

When  I  recall  Bill I  am  tempted  to  pray, 

in  the  sentiment  of  the  Pharisee,  "I  thank 
Thee,  O  God,  that  I  am  not  as  some  other  men — 
even  Bill."  But  when  I  think  over  his  whole 
career,  his  handicaps  along  the  road  of  virtuous 
living,  his  fight  with  wild  beasts  of  which  we  draw- 
ing-room saints  know  nothing,  I  wonder  if  really 
Bill  did  not  far  outclass  the  most  of  us  in  the 
opinion  of  the  angels. 

Bill's  physiognomy  was  as  strange  as  his  life. 


FRIENDS  277 

He  had  a  finelj^  intellectual  forehead  that  made  a 
fitting  facade  for  the  big,  bald  and  glistening  dome 
of  thought  that  rose  behind  it.  His  eyes  were 
beautiful  in  spite  of  what  they  had  been  accustomed 
to  look  out  upon — as  blue  and  soft  as  the  sky  over 
the  Dead  Sea.  But  his  nose  was  sadly  awry.  It 
had  been  broken  by  the  same  blow  of  a  policeman's 
club  that  had  shattered  his  jaw. 

I  was  introduced  to  Bill  by  another  of  my 
esteemed  friends,  an  ex-convict  who  had  founded  a 
home  for  discharged  prisoners. 

"  Bill's  the  best  nmn  that  ever  walked  out  of  jail ; 
as  true  steel  as  his  jimmy  used  to  be,"  was  Mike 
Dunn's  comment. 

Bill  and  I  spent  many  a  half-hour  together,  talk- 
ing about  prison  reform,  tramp  life,  safe-cracking, 
upper-crust  hypocrites,  namby-pamby  philanthro- 
pists, the  future  life  and  where  we  would  like  to 
go  when  we  got  our  tickets-of-leave.  He  one  day 
asked  me  to  loan  him  a  book  or  two,  to  help  him 
retrieve  some  of  his  lost  years  in  an  educational 
way.  As  I  knew  of  no  Sunday-school  books  quite 
virile  enough  to  hold  his  attention,  I  took  from  the 
shelf  Dickens'  "  Oliver  Twist,"  with  Cruikshank's 
catchy  illustrations.  On  returning  the  book  Bill 
made  this  comment : 

"  The  man  what  wrote  that  book  was  a  hard  'un. 
Some  repaired  thief,  eh?  " 

I  defended  the  renowned  novelist  from  this  im- 
putation. 

Bill  Insisted :  "  He  must  'a'  been ;  for  nobody  but 


278  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  AVAY 

a  man  who  as  a  child  had  been  put  through  the  key- 
hole to  unlock  doors  from  the  inside  could  'a'  writ 
it.  I  know,  for  I  was  brought  uj)  that  way.  Un- 
less you've  been  the  real  thing  you  can't  describe 
it,  any  more  than  you  can  guess  the  combination  of 
a  safe-door." 

Bill  then  told  me  his  life  story.  He  never  knew 
who  his  father  was.  Of  his  mother  he  retained 
only  shadowy  recollections, — shadowy  in  a  double 
sense.  There  was  a  man  who  claimed  to  be  his 
uncle,  and  played  the  prerogative  of  such  rela- 
tionship by  "  walloping "  him  whenever,  as  a 
child,  he  hesitated  to  pick  a  pocket,  steal  a  key  or 
purloin  anything  else  that  was  convenable  to  the 
cracksman's  project.  Bill  showed  such  talent  for 
his  calling  that  while  still  in  his  early  teens  he  was 
matriculated  at  the  town  jail;  soon  advanced 
to  the  penitentiary  where  he  spent  some  years 
under  the  tuition  of  the  ablest  members  of 
the  profession  who  were  similarly  retained  with 
pension  allowance  for  board  and  lodgings  from  the 
State.  He  graduated  with  such  honors  that  he  was 
soon  chosen  to  be  the  head  of  a  select  company  of 
Plug  Uglies.  His  reputation  was  country-wide 
when  he  was  tried  for  a  murder.  From  this 
charge  he  was  acquitted  on  the  failure  of  the  evi- 
dence to  prove  beyond  doubt  that  he  had  actually 
fired  the  fatal  shot.  It  was  while  resisting  arrest 
for  this  crime  that  he  received  the  blow  that  dis- 
figured his  otherwise  handsome  face. 

Bill  confessed  to  me  that  his  conscience  was  so 


FKIENDS  279 

tender  that  he  could  not  object  to  the  twenty  years' 
sentence  for  his  part  in  the  melee.  "  But,"  said 
he,  stopping  short  in  his  narrative,  "  I  oughtn't  tell 
you  these  things.  It  won't  hurt  you,  but  it  hurts 
me.  You  see  when  I  remember  what  I  was  and 
what  I  did  there  comes  on  me  a  sort  of  craziness  to 
go  back  and  do  them  over  again.  It  was  all  so  ex- 
citing that  just  to  think  of  it  heats  me  up  and  sets 
me  shaking  like  a  locomotive  engine  gettin'  up 
steam.  Lying  alone  so  much  of  the  time  in  the 
prison  it  was  the  only  recreation  I  had  to  imagine 
I  was  out  again  on  the  road.  When  wide-awake  in 
the  cell  at  night,  when  working  all  day  eyes-front 
and  tongue-tied  making  brooms  or  cracking  stones, 
when  doing  the  lock-stej)  going  to  chapel  and  meals, 
I've  planned  more  deviltry  than  I  could  handle  in  a 
double  lifetime,  even  if  I  wasn't  caught  and  inter- 
rupted in  the  jobs.  It's  thinking  over  past  things, 
things  that  ought  to  be  forgot,  that's  what  helps 
most  to  damn  a  convict.  You  just  tell  that  to  your 
philanthropist  friends." 

"  With  your  new  purpose  in  life,  Bill,  I  should 
imagine  that  thinking  over  the  old  things  would 
only  make  you  hate  them." 

"  Well,  it  ain't  so,"  he  responded.  "An  old  crim- 
inal's thoughts  are  like  what  the  smell  of  whiskey 
is  to  a  bum.  He  may  shake  his  feet  at  the  saloon 
door  when  he  first  swears  off,  but  just  as  like  enough 
he'll  go  back  and  drink  if  he  gets  into  the  smell 
of  it." 

"  I'm  sorry.  Bill,  that  I  lent  you  Oliver  Twist" 


280  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

"  So  am  I,"  said  he.  "  But  you  meant  it  all 
right,  and  I  stood  it  for  a  while.  Thank  God  and 
Mike  Dunn  that  I've  got  some  new  and  clean  grit 
into  me." 

So  we  would  talk.  Bill  taught  me  more  psy- 
chology than  I  ever  read  in  books,  and  more  evan- 
gelical matter  than  was  ever  dropped  on  my  head 
from  a  pulpit. 

Six  years  later  I  received  from  the  superin- 
tendent of  a   city   mission  a   letter   which   said, 

"  William is  dead.     All  these  years  he  lived 

among  us  as  an  humble,  consistent  Christian.  He 
was  a  great  inspiration  to  us  all." 

I  am  glad  Bill  and  I  were  such  good  pals. 

Descensus  Averno. 

Bill's  life  is  not  a  part  of  my  own  biography. 
Yet  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  It  was  like  a  strange 
scene  alongside  of  a  path.  You  cannot  dissociate 
the  scene  from  the  way  you  have  gone. 

My  life-path  has  led  me  down  into  what  I  may 
call  aesthetic  and  moral  lowlands.  I  will  venture 
another  incident.  I  drag  it  up  from  a  deep,  and, 
to  my  eye  as  a  social  economist,  a  bottomless  abyss. 

A  horrible  murder  had  been  committed  in  a  great 
western  city  where  I  Avas  spending  some  weeks.  A 
notorious  yeggman  of  the  worst  type  had  been  in- 
dicted for  the  crime.  A  gentleman  who  had  gained 
great  repute  as  a  criminal  lawyer  was  engaged  for 
the  defense.  After  studying  the  case  he  became 
convinced  that  the  man,  whatever  other  misdeeds 


FKIENDS  281 

he  may  have  been  guilty  of,  was  innocent  of  this 
particular  act  of  fiendishness. 

To  do  justice  to  his  client  it  was  necessary  that 
he  should  meet  certain  i)ersons  Avho  lived  so  far 
down  in  the  lowest  stratum  of  the  "  submerged 
tenth "  that  they  seldom  floated  up  even  to  the 
level  of  the  streets  in  daylight.  It  was  impossible 
to  get  these  men  to  come  to  his  office.  They  had  a 
warranted  fear  of  detectives  if  they  should  emerge 
from  their  burrows.     The  lawyer  must  go  to  them. 

"An  interesting  job,"  I  remarked.  "Apt  to  be 
exciting." 

"  If  you  think  so,  come  along  with  me,"  replied 
my  friend.  "  To-night  at  eleven  some  plain  clothes 
men  from  the  police  quarters  will  be  at  the  corner 

of Street,  and  will  see  me  safe  so  long  as 

they  can  see  me  at  all ;  but  when  I  plunge  down  into 
a  hole  they  will  not  be  responsible  for  me.  So  the 
Chief  of  Police  warns  me;  but  there  will  be  no 
danger.  They  know  me  down  there.  I've  saved 
the  necks  of  some  of  that  class.  So  I  am  persona 
grata  to  Lucifer,  thanks  to  my  unsavory  reputa- 
tion !  There  are  some  malodorous  plants  the  scent 
of  which  becomes  their  protection  from  things  that 
prey  upon  other  plants.  We  criminal  laAvyers  have 
that  sort  of  immunity.  If  you  can  stand  me  you 
had  better  come  along." 

It  was  late  at  night.    We  went  down  

Street;  entered  a  small  cigar  shop  where  some 
cryptic  words  with  a  man  behind  the  counter  in- 
duced him  to  let  us  out  through  a  back-door  into 


282  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

an  unliglited  yard.  Across  this  a  door  opened  into 
a  dark  passageway.  Having  threaded  this  we  stood 
suddenly  in  a  brilliantly  lighted  hall. 

This  transformation  scene  suggested  that  we  had 
been  transported  through  both  time  and  space; 
tliat  this  was  one  of  the  veritable  Arabian  Nights, 
and  that  Chicago  had  become  Bagdad.  The  illu- 
sion was,  however,  spoiled  by  the  furniture  of  the 
place,  which  consisted  chiefly  of  card  and  roulette 
tables. 

My  friend  called  my  attention  to  one  of  the  most 
intent  card-players;  a  gentleman  whom  the  people 
that  voted  for  him  imagined  to  have  his  seat  under 
the  dome  of  our  State  Capitol,  surrounded  by 
statues  of  Justice  and  Liberty,  and  commemorative 
of  the  great  and  good  Americans  who  had  sacrificed 
themselves  on  the  altar  of  their  country. 

I  expressed  to  my  companion  my  surprise  that  he 
should  come  to  so  elegant  a  haunt  of  vice  to  seek 
the  peculiar  quarry  he  had  described  to  me. 

"  You  can  never  tell,"  he  replied,  "  since  the  frogs 
from  the  Nile  once  came  up  into  Pharaoh's  bath- 
tub." 

He  spoke  for  a  moment  with  a  low-browed,  corru- 
gate-faced, but  elegantly  dressed  man.  "  That 
fellow,"  said  he  afterward,  "  is  a  sort  of  rat  in  the 
sewer  connection  between  the  high  and  low  life  of 
the  city.  I  have  gotten  from  him  the  tip  I  needed. 
Come ! " 

Half  a  block  away  we  made  a  deeper  descmsvs 
Averno,  and  landed  in  a  small  room  packed  to 


FRIENDS  283 

suffocation  with  nogioes.  The  black  mass  fairly 
writhed  about  a  table  where  one  threw  the  dice  on 
Avhich  they  risked  their  dimes  and  quarters.  From 
their  eagerness  one  might  have  thought  that  they 
were  trying  to  rescue  one  of  their  number  from  a 
sunken  mine. 

Here  my  friend  got  another  clue,  a  dirty  one  in- 
deed, which  dropped  us  even  lower  down  the  social 
ladder.  I  cannot  soil  the  white  paper  on  which  I 
am  writing  by  attempting  to  describe  the  scene  we 
next  witnessed.  I  have  threaded  my  way  through 
a  back  alley  in  Cairo  on  a  torrid  night,  when  a  yard 
of  clothing  sufficed  for  a  score  of  human  beings; 
but  here,  with  a  Christian  church  clock  striking  the 
hour,  and  with  the  "  finest  "  policemen  in  the  world 
beating  time  on  the  adjacent  sidewalk,  I  assure  you 
that  other  scene  in  the  oriental  Tophet  was  utterly 
outclassed  in  indecency.  For  any  similitude  I  must 
borrow  Virgil's  description  of  the  Harpies :  "  Fowls 
with  virgin  faces,  most  loathsome  .  .  .  hands 
hooked,  and  faces  pale." 

"  Do  you  see  that  beast  over  yonder?  "  asked  my 
guide.  "  She  was  once  a  somewhat  noted  singer. 
I  have  heard  her  in  opera.     Later  she  was  the  town 

sensation  in  vaudeville.     Now Well!  a  few 

more  maniacal  shrieks,  and  they  will  bury  her  in 
the  Potter's  Field." 

I  protested  against  any  further  prospecting 
through  Inferno. 

"  But  you  couldn't  get  home  from  here  alone. 
I'll  make  only  one  more  search." 


281  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

We  next  entered  a  low  saloon  at  tlie  dark  end  of 
a  filth-reeking  alley.  We  were  stopped  at  the 
entrance  by  a  woman  the  hardness  and  ill-balance 
of  whose  features  suggested  the  fabled  portress  of 
hell.  A  few  cabalistic  words  opened  the  way  for 
us  into  a  back  room,  where  there  sat  around  a  beer- 
soaked  table  four  or  five  bullet-headed  men.  As 
we  entered  they  rose  quickly  to  their  feet  as  if  to 
repel  any  invasion  of  their  den. 

"  It's  all  right,  Jacks,"  barked  the  woman  who 

had  followed  us.     "  It's  only  ,"  giving  the 

name  of  my  friend. 

I  saw  that  I  was  not  wanted  among  these  friends 
in  council,  and  accepted  the  invitation  of  the  she 
monster  to  sit  in  the  anteroom. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  diabolical  novelty  of  the 
situation  I  should  have  deserted  my  comrade,  and 
risked  being  bludgeoned  at  the  door-sill.  But  that 
woman's  ugliness  fascinated  me,  very  much  as  I 
was  once  held  by  the  filthy  mud  geyser  in  the 
Yellowstone.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  drifted 
back  through  the  geological  ages,  and  had  en- 
countered one  of  the  beasts  just  endowed  with 
human  reason.  I  had  always  been  interested  in 
palseontological  studies,  so  I  stuck  it  out  for  a 
half-hour  until  my  friend  reappeared.  But  those 
thirty  minutes  moved  slowly,  and  they  have  left  a 
very  sore  spot  in  my  memory. 

Since  that  night  humanity  has  widened  its 
ranges,  and  has  been  to  me  a  more  complicated, 
involved  problem  than  I  had  dreamed  of  before. 


FKIENDS  285 

Saintly  men  and  women  sprouting  wings  to  fly 
heavenward  and  this  vile  stuff  crawling  out  of 
primeval  human  nuid  belong  to  the  same  race!  I 
professed  belief  in  Christianity  which  proposed  to 
lift  the  lowest  into  the  highest  form  of  the  species. 
Could  I  believe  it?  I  had  to  think  of  Bill  in  order 
to  rescue  my  faith. 

My  legal  friend  said  to  me  as  we  returned  home, 
"  I  have  learned  enough  to-night  to  prove  an  alibi 
for  my  client.  But  unfortunately  I  couldn't  induce 
one  of  those  fellows  to  appear  as  a  witness.  If  he 
did  his  character  is  such  that  his  testimony  would 
not  be  believed  by  any  jury.  Besides,  this  crowd 
couldn't  exonerate  my  client  except  by  damning 
themselves  as  the  real  peri)etrators  of  the  crime. 
Now  what  would  you  do  if  in  my  place?  " 

I  could  give  him  no  advice.  His  wisdom  or 
shrewdness  stood  him  in  good  stead ;  for  later  he  so 
managed  the  case  without  revealing  his  informants 
that  the  guilt  of  his  client  was  regarded  by  the  jury 
as  not  sufftciently  jiroven. 

On  parting  with  me  the  lawyer  said,  "  You  know 
that  I  have  been  offered  the  nomination  for  District 
Attorney.  I  have  two  reasons  for  not  taking  it. 
First,  my  life  wouldn't  be  worth  a  candle  flame  if 
I  should  ever  have  to  prosecute  any  of  this  gang, 
since  they  have  once  given  me  their  confidence ;  for 
what  they  have  told  me  they  regard  as  sacredly 
safe  as  if  they  had  told  it  at  a  priest's  confessional. 
Secondly,  I  could  not  do  it  honorably.  There  is 
*  honor   among   thieves,'   and   there   ought  to   be 


286  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

honor   among   criminal    lawyers.     What    do    you 
think?" 

I  have  been  thinking  ever  since. 

Beneath  the  Skin. 

My  life,  having  been  one  of  a  semi-public  char- 
acter, has  brought  me  into  contact  and  some 
familiarity  with  men  distinguished  for  presumed 
attainments  in  the  various  arts  and  professions  or 
for  leadership  in  popular  enterprises.  My  recol- 
lection of  some  of  them — I  trust  that  I  am  not  un- 
duly depreciatory — leaves  me  surprised  at  their 
repute,  and  also  at  the  gullibility  of  the  general 
public. 

Many  a  flash  of  genius  is  like  a  gleam  of  gold  in 
a  pile  of  dirt.  It  attracts  the  attention  of  those 
who  are  out  prospecting  for  celebrities,  as  are  all 
newspaper  reporters.  A  happy,  almost  accidental, 
turn  of  tact  is  interpreted  as  astuteness.  Some- 
thing that  happens  to  catch  the  popular  sentiment 
at  the  moment,  a  speech,  a  book,  a  poem,  brings 
repute,  as  the  invention  of  the  "  return  ball  "  play- 
thing and  the  concocting  of  chewing  gum  are  said 
to  have  been  rewarded  by  fortunes. 

I  was  thrown  much  with  a  gentleman  who  had 
attained  a  considerable  notoriety  as  a  mirth-breeder 
on  the  platform.  In  ordinary  conversation  he  was 
utterly  juiceless.  He  carefully  conserved  every 
particle  of  soul  moisture  that  percolated  through 
his  rather  arid  nature,  and  sold  it  to  the  public  who 
grinned  their  delight  at  fifty  cents  a  head. 


FRIENDS  287 

I  have  laiown  certain  preachers  who  had  a  mar- 
vellous kuack  of  "  putting  things  "  to  a  congrega- 
tion, but  whose  opinion  on  any  subject  that  re- 
quired sound  practical  judgment,  theological,  social, 
philanthropic,  scientific,  moral  or  even  domestic — 
for  this  I  have  their  wives'  testimony — was  utterly 
negligible. 

A  somewhat  noted  publicist  once  boasted  to  me 
that  he  had  never  been  guilty  of  advancing  a  new 
idea.  From  many  conversations  with  him  I  am  led 
to  believe  that  he  was  sincere  and  correct  in  this 
judgment.  He  read  omnivorously  upon  popular 
topics — politics,  science,  literature,  it  mattered  not 
what  might  be  upiiermost  in  the  public  mind — and, 
having  a  knack  at  condensation  together  with  an 
easy  rhetoric,  he  passed  as  a  prosiiector  in  many 
fields. 

Some  popular  books  on  science  have  been  written 
by  men  who  would  never  have  been  trusted  with  a 
test-tube  in  the  laboratory,  who  from  personal  in- 
spection would  scarcely  distinguish  a  stratum  of 
sand-stone  of  the  Palicologic  Age  from  the  con- 
crete floor  of  an  abandoned  factory,  and  whose 
knowledge  of  the  stars  was  limited  to  their  own 
reflections  from  the  printed  page. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  a  tourist  with  note-book  and 
camera  in  Northern  Italy,  "  is  Italy  a  Republic  or 
a  Kingdom?"  Yet  this  man  was  "doing"  that 
part  of  the  Peninsula  for  an  American  period- 
ical. 

In  public  movements  flag-carrying  is  often  taken 


288  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

for  real  leadership.  Or  it  may  be  that  circum- 
stances, as  in  a  football  game,  have  thrust  a  very 
ordinary  individual,  as  it  were,  through  a  break  in 
the  opposing  line,  and  he  seems  to  the  crowd  to  have 
been  the  directing  hero  of  the  whole  combat. 

In  politics  this  is  not  uncommonly  so.  If  a  cer- 
tain party  has  the  majority  of  votes  in  a  district  it 
will  constitute  a  tide  that  will  float  almost  any  sort 
of  driftwood  to  success.  One  is  depressed  with  this 
fact  if  he  has  had  much  to  do  with  the  common  run 
of  Aldermen,  Assemblymen  and  Congressmen ;  and 
the  soul  of  the  patriot  is  not  fully  cheered  by  close 
acquaintance  with  some  of  our  Governors  and 
Senators. 

I  have  interested  myself  during  many  years  in 
watching  the  development  of  some  of  our  "  leaders." 

The  Honorable  Sam  will  serve  me  for  a 

specimen  of  the  tribe. 

Too  lazy  to  study,  Sam  was  enabled  to  enter  col- 
lege by  the  need  of  the  college  treasurer  for  tuition 
fees.  He  was  allowed  to  graduate  cum  laucle  be- 
cause the  class  roll  for  that  year  showed  a  diminu- 
tion in  numbers.  He  studied  law  because  the  ex- 
judge  in  whose  office  he  "  read  "  was  an  aspirant 
for  political  preferment,  and  needed  the  influence 
of  Sam's  father.  From  contact  with  the  judge  and 
the  frequenters  of  the  offtce  Sam  acquired  the  itch 
for  politics.  Blackstone  was  too  dry  for  him,  while 
Tom,  Dick  and  Harry,  each  with  a  vote  in  his 
pocket,  were  very  interesting.  If  he  knew  little 
about  the  statesmen  of  the  world,  Sam  did  become 


FRIENDS  289 

almost  an  expert  biogra])lier  of  the  electors  of  liis 
Avard.  His  proficiency  in  tlie  study  of  foreign  af- 
fairs was  sliown  chietly  in  liis  helpfulness  toward 
certain  aliens  whom  he  induced  to  become  American 
citizens  within  five  yeai'S  of  their  landing  in  the 
United  States,  and  whose  patriotism  he  stimu- 
lated by  assisting  them  to  prepare  their  first  bal- 
lots. 

A  dead-lock  having  occurred  between  two  fac- 
tions in  his  party,  both  united  upon  Sam  as  a  "  dark 
horse,"  whereupon  he  rode  triumphantly  into  the 
mayorality  of  his  city,  which  had  just  emerged  from 
village  short  clothes  into  municipal  manhood.  By 
judicious  distribution  of  patronage  between  two 
factions  he  united  his  own  party,  and  by  orating  a 
few  platitudes  about  reform  he  won  over  some  dis- 
gruntles from  the  opi)osite  party,  and  was  projected 
into  a  State  Senatorship.  Here  his  career  was 
threatened  because  his  ignorance  of  jiractieal  af- 
fairs disqualified  him  for  committee  work,  and  his 
lack  of  usefulness  in  the  Senate  failed  to  attract  to 
him  the  attention  of  the  outside  lobbyists  who  were 
looking  for  men  capable  of  rolling  their  logs  into 
the  stream  of  legislation. 

Sam  must  change  his  field.  Then  why  not  seek  a 
wider,  rather  than  a  narrower,  one?  He  spent  sev- 
eral evenings  studying  uj)  national  history.  He 
read  a  number  of  good  articles  on  Jefferson  and 
the  Federalists,  a  handbook  on  the  Constitution,  a 
few  speeches  of  Webster  and  Lincoln.  He  was  able 
to  lard  his  natural  oratorical  glibness  with  quota- 


290  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

tions  from  the  Fathers  of  the  Republic ;  made  a  fair 
Fourth  of  July  address ;  was  nominated  and  elected 
to  Congress.  Here  he  voted  right  on  the  Tariff; 
got  leave  to  print  in  the  Record  an  unuttered  speech 
which  he  franked  by  the  thousands  to  his  con- 
stituents, some  of  whom  recognized  generous  un- 
acknowledged quotations  from  letters  they  had 
written  him.  He  might  have  been  returned  to  his 
seat  in  the  council  of  the  nation  were  it  not  that  he 
made  a  wrong  guess  as  to  the  faction  which  would 
control  the  party  primary. 

Sam  has  occupied  his  recent  leisure  in  compiling 
a  patchwork  biography  of  himself,  made  up  of  vari- 
ous press  notices  of  the  "Young  Gladstone  of 
America." 

This  illustration  of  how  some  of  our  public  men 
are  made  suggests  an  incident  which  will  reveal  the 
secret  of  the  failure  of  some  of  our  ablest  men  to 
reach  responsible  positions.  Among  my  neighbors 
was  a  brilliant  young  lawyer.  He  had  inherited  his 
talent  from  a  remarkable  family  well  known  in  the 
land.  His  reputation  for  character  gave  weight  to 
his  recognized  ability.  The  times  were  out  of  joint. 
The  "  submerged  tenth  "  was  oozing  upward  and 
had  almost  gotten  the  control  of  the  community. 
It  was  the  time  for  some  young  Hercules  to  cleanse 
the  Augean  stable.  Who  better  qualified  than  my 
friend?  He  was  eloquent  and  resourceful ;  he  must 
lead.     His  nomination  was  settled  upon. 

He  refused  to  heed  the  popular  call.  We  knew 
that  he  was  ambitious,  and  the  golden  stairway  was 


FRIENDS  291 

revealed  right  before  liim.  We  knew  his  high  ideal 
of  commuuity  service,  and  appealed  straight  to  his 
conscience.  But  without  avail.  He  listened.  Now 
and  then  his  eyes  glistened  as  if  his  soul  were 
putting  on  armor  for  the  good  fight ;  then  he  shook 
his  head, — "  Gentlemen,  it  is  impossible !  "  We 
watched  him  walk  the  floor,  and  each  time  he  turned 
expected  a  favorable  reply,  but  none  came.  The 
case  involved  some  mystery,  for  he  made  no  counter 
argument  to  our  solicitations. 

When  the  others  had  gone,  he  turned  suddenly  to 
me,  sat  down  by  my  side,  and  burst  into  tears.  He 
then  told  me  the  reason  for  his  refusal. 

"  I  could  not  open  my  heart  to  the  others,  but,  as 
you  have  been  my  own  friend  and  my  father's 
friend,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  let  me  crawl  into 
your  heart  in  confidence.  No  man  knows  the  agony 
which  my  refusal  costs  me.  It  is  not  because  I  do 
not  care  for  public  office  or  have  no  interest  in  the 
reform  of  affairs;  but  I  am  absolutely  unfit  for 
office.  Until  this  moment  no  one  but  God  and  my- 
self has  known  that  I  am  the  victim  of  a  chronic 
temptation  that  will  one  day  ruin  my  reputation  as 
it  has  already  ruined  my  peace.  When  that  day 
comes  I  shall  slink  away  and  lose  myself  in  the  un- 
known crowd  that  I  now  despise.  I  will  creep 
away  through  the  big  shadow  that  hangs  over  all 
life.  I  dare  not  enlarge  my  personality  by  taking 
a  public  position.  If  you  knew  all,  you  would  be 
the  last  to  ask  me.  If  I  fall,  I  fall  alone.  That 
much  I  owe  to  my  fellow-men.    That  you  think  I 


292  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

have  ability  only  cuts  me  tlie  deeper.  I  am  like  a 
captain  wlio  knows  that  he  has  a  rotten  ship  in 
which  he  dares  not  sail.  I  must  have  no  resj^on- 
sibility  except  to  myself." 

A  little  while  later  we  buried  this  man.  A  mean 
worm  that  no  one  else  saw  had  felled  the  grand  oak. 

I  wonder  if  this  is  not  the  secret  of  our  disap- 
pointment in  many  of  our  young  men.  Sometimes 
the  vice  that  slays  has  not  really  poisoned  the  blood 
and  brought  the  physical  disaster,  but  is  as  yet  only 
a  habit  of  mind,  absorbing  the  time  that  might  be 
given  to  better  thinking,  choking  the  growth  of  wise 
opinions,  clogging  the  balance  of  the  finer  judg- 
ment, and  stilling  witli  its  fetid  air  the  purity  of 
the  soul's  breathing.  But  often,  as  in  the  case 
narrated,  the  self-knowledge  of  the  secret  pro- 
pensity makes  the  man  a  moral  coward.  He  would 
feel  hypocritical  if  he  should  prate  in  public  about 
the  virtue  he  is  conscious  of  not  possessing.  Thus 
the  very  remnant  of  his  virtue,  his  self-consistency, 
paralyzes  his  moral  action.  With  highest  ideals, 
strongest  incentives,  conscious  ability  and  all  cir- 
cumstances moving  him  toward  success  like  a  tide, 
the  man  is  an  imbecile. 

I  must  give  a  foil  to  the  bad  impression  made 
by  these  incidents  by  letting  the  reader  see  through 
my  memory  a  very  different  public  character.    Mr. 

was  very  prominent  in  the  legal  profession, 

and  well  known  for  his  advocacy  of  good  govern- 
ment. He  was  offered  a  nomination  to  Congress, 
but  declined  it,  as  he  said  to  me,  "  Because  I  would 


FEIENDS  293 

be  too  much  beliolden  to  certain  men  whom  I  do 
not  believe  in,  but  who  are  pushing  my  nomination. 
I  would  not  be  free." 

A  few  years  later  this  gentleman  was  elected 
Governor  of  one  of  our  States.  The  bee  for  other 
similar  advancement  got  "  into  his  bonnet."  The 
United  States  Senatorship  was  offered  him  by  the 
engineers  of  the  party  machine.  At  the  same  time 
they  had  put  through  the  Legislature  a  partisan 
bill  which  was  waiting  for  his  signature. 

A  mutual  friend  told  me  of  this  scene.  "  It  was 
late  at  night.  We  had  talked  for  some  time  over 
]jolitical  affairs.  Picking  up  the  bill  the  Governor 
said,  ^  I  ought  not  to  sign  that.'  I  replied,  *  But, 
Governor,  you  know  the  consequences  of  a  refusal.' 
For  a  long  time  neither  of  us  spoke.  The  Gov- 
ernor took  long  walks  up  and  down  the  room.  He 
then  sat  down  at  the  table ;  read  and  reread  various 
passages  of  the  document;  asked  a  question  or  two 
about  their  significance;  leaned  his  head  upon  his 
hands.  I  watched  his  face.  The  man  was  having 
a  struggle.  His  countenance  was  eloquent  with 
the  combat  that  was  being  waged  behind  its  mus- 
cles. At  length  he  brought  his  big  hand  down  upon 
the  paper,  and  with  set  jaw  muttered  as  if  to  him- 
self and  oblivious  of  my  presence,  '  I  will  not  sign 
it.  It  would  make  a  bad  precedent  for  future  legis- 
lation. I  prefer  to  take  the  consequences  of  the 
refusal,' " 

The  Governor  took  the  consequences,  and  has 
been   out  of  politics   ever   since.     He  was   never 


294  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

cognizant  of  tlie  fact  that  I  knew  of  tliat  scene. 
But  one  day  we  were  talking  of  Mr.  Lincoln : 

"  Governor,  what  in  your  mind  was  the  supreme 
moment  in  Lincoln's  life?  " 

He  replied  as  calmly  as  if  the  question  had  been 
one  in  which  he  had  no  especial  personal  inter- 
est: 

"  When,  in  his  debate  with  Mr.  Douglas,  he  de- 
liberately sacrificed  his  prospect  of  being  sent  to 
the  Senate  rather  than  abate  one  jot  from  his  pro- 
nounced free-soil  j)rinciples." 

"  But,"  I  replied,  "  the  people  remembered  that 
unselfish  act  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  and  it  ultimately  won 
him  the  Presidency." 

"  True,"  said  the  Governor,  "  but  Lincoln  didn't 
know  what  was  to  follow.  He  made  his  choice  in 
utter  disinterestedness,  willingly  sacrificing  all  per- 
sonal ambition  for  a  princi])le.  I  have  often 
thought  of  that  act  of  self-immolation  as  marking 
the  high  water-mark,  not,  perhaps  in  his  public 
career,  but  certainly  in  the  development  of  his 
character.     And  character  is  more  than  career." 

Many  men  have  paraded  in  the  stolen  toga  of 
Abraham  Lincoln.  I  have  here  told  of  this  one  man 
to  whom  the  great  martyr  seems  to  have  lent  his 
mantle. 

I  could  illustrate  the  haphazard  of  reputation 
from  the  characters  of  some  of  my  acquaintances 
who  were  reputed  to  be  philanthropists.  I  recall 
one  gentleman  who,  I  am  sure,  never  looked  inten- 
tionally, inquiringly,  sympathetically  into  the  dis- 


FRIENDS  205 

tressed  face  of  a  fellow-man.  More  than  one  home 
was  broken  up  by  his  cruel  exaction  of  the  pound  of 
flesh  in  the  way  of  mortgage  interest  and  rent. 
His  chief  renown  while  living  was  for  the  shrewd- 
ness with  which  he  wrecked  a  certain  railroad  cor- 
poration. But  after  his  death  he  was  canonized — 
by  the  newspapers — as  a  saint  after  the  order  of 
Joseph  of  Arimathea. 

I  may  tell  how  this  came  about  as  it  was  told  me 
by  his  legal  adviser,  a  man  of  very  similar  char- 
acter who  had  engineered  some  of  his  client's  skin- 
flint projects,  and  was  not  even  ashamed  to  boast 
of  the  part  he  had  taken  in  revamping  his  reputa- 
tion. 

"  You  know  that  old  ,  though  he  never 

shadowed  a  church  door  and  was  always  blasphem- 
ing against  preachers,  was  all  the  while  awfully 
afraid  of  dying.  When  the  doctors  gave  him  a  hint 
that  it  was  all  up  with  him,  he  talked  to  me  as  if  I 
were  his  priest,  and  could  help  him  out  of  the  devil's 
clutches,  as  I  had  on  more  than  one  occasion  helped 
him  out  of  the  clutches  of  more  visible  adversaries. 

"  You  know,"  continued  my  informant,  "  I  go  to 

the Church ;  at  least  that  is  where  I  pay  for 

the  pew  my  wife  sits  in  when  her  mirror  prods  her 
conscience  on  a  Sunday  morning.  Now  I  really 
wanted  to  solace  the  old  man,  and  suggested  that, 
as  he  had  no  relatives  to  dispute  his  will,  he  ought 
to  make  a  donation  to  our  church,  which  was  just 
then  trying  to  raise  money  for  a  new  edifice. 
Jokingly   I   told   him    about    the    played-out    de- 


296  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

bauchees,  condottieri  and  others  of  that  kidney  who 
had  endowed  altars  and  got  their  names  carved  on 
cathedral  walls.  I  don't  believe  that  he  really 
thought  there  would  be  any  virtue  in  imitating  these 
worthy  examples,  but  he  Avas  never  a  man  to  take 
a  risk  if  he  could  '  hedge  himself.'  Hence  his  j^ost- 
humus  philanthropy,  that  '  Splendid  Bequest,' 
that  '  Spontaneous  Effusion  of  a  Great  Heart ' 
referred  to  in  his  obituary  notices." 

I  would  not  leave  the  impression  that  this  sort  of 
philanthropist  or  this  sort  of  legal  adviser  was 
typical  of  my  generation.  Fleas  are  somewhat 
natural  to  dogs.  Perhai^s  I  had  better  give  a  few 
contrasting  pictures  just  to  save  my  repute  for 
having  been  at  all  associated  with  either  of  the 
above-mentioned  gentlemen. 

I  was  walking  with  a  friend  who  had  recently 
lost  a  member  of  his  family  to  whom  he  had  been 
tenderly  attached.  We  were  speaking  of  memorial 
monuments.  I  quoted  an  Arab  tradition  that 
Mahomet  was  once  approached  by  a  man  who  said, 
"  O  Prophet,  my  mother  is  dead.  What  shall  I  do 
to  commemorate  her  virtues?  "  "  Dig  a  well,"  re- 
plied the  Prophet.  That  is  probably  the  sugges- 
tion of  the  many  trickling  streams  one  sees  in 
Moslem  cemeteries. 

A  few  days  later  my  friend  said  to  me,  "I  am 
going  to  dig  a  w^ell !     I  will  make  an  annex  to  our 

hospital,  and  endow  it.    I  think ,  who  was  so 

loving  to  everybody,  would  like  that  better  than 
anything  in  ostentatious  marble." 


FRIENDS  297 

I  have  been  permitted  in  my  long  life  to  see  many 
such  streams  triclding  from  wells  that  are  deep  in 
human  hearts,  and  sending  refreshing  waters 
through  the  deserts  of  suffering.  Many  men  and 
women  have  I  known  "  of  whom  the  world  is  not 
worthy,"  and  of  whom,  in  the  inscrutable  methods 
of  Divine  Providence,  the  world  has  never  heard. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  local  charities,  noAV  in 
its  semi-centennial  existence,  owes  its  start,  not  to 
any  well-known  benefactress  or  association,  but  to 
a  poor  little  crippled  child  whom  I  often  found 
working  with  her  aching  fingers  to  relieve  the  woes 
of  her  class,  until  at  length  others  with  pecuniary 
means  and  leisure  were  hypnotized  by  her  example 
and  followed  it. 

I  was  very  fond  of  Mr. .     He  was  far  gone 

with  consumption,  yet  in  order  to  feed  his  body 
while  it  lasted  he  was  obliged  to  work  ten  hours  a 
day  in  a  factory.  I  interested  myself  to  find  some 
restful  recreation  for  his  evenings,  but  he  had  found 
for  himself  a  satisfactory  way  of  occupying  his 
leisure  hours.  Leisure!  With  racking  cough  and 
blood-spitting!  Until  after  midnight  he  would  be 
upon  the  street,  seeking  out  some  over-tempted  fel- 
low-workman. Out  of  his  meagre  savings  he  pro- 
vided a  "  rescue  camp  "  in  the  slums,  and  there 
organized  a  life-saving  corps  of  men  whom  he  in- 
spired with  the  spirit  of  his  own  helpfulness. 

The  men  at  the  factory  took  a  day  off  for  his 
funeral.  But  the  newspapers,  that  made  full 
notice   of   every   foible   of   society,   every   slip   of 


298  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

ignorant  virtue,  every  mistalvc  of  the  best  inten- 
tioned  goodness,  never  discovered  that  this  man  had 
lived  and  died. 

"  God  knows  His  own."    I  am  grateful  that  He 
let  me  know  some  of  them  too. 


XII 

RETIREMENT 

A  Mistake  for  Many. 

WHEN — to  talk  in  Dantesque  style — I  was 
midway  the  circle  of  my  seventh  decade 
I  realized  the  wisdom  in  the  lines  which 
the  poet  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Guido  da  Monte- 
f eltro  describing  that  period  of  life : 

**  Quando  mi  vidi  giunto  in  quella  parte 
Di  mia  eta,  ove  ciascmi  dovrebbe 
Calar  le  vele  e  raecoglier  le  sarte. ' ' 

I,  too,  had  reached  the  time  of  life  when  "every- 
body ought  to  lower  sail  and  coil  uj)  the  ropes." 
That  is,  I  proposed  to  retire  from  the  rush  of  pro- 
fessional life. 

There  were,  however,  about  me  some  warnings 
against  such  a  policy.  Among  my  age-limping  con- 
temporaries were  those  who  had  discovered  that 
men  are  not  like  beai-s,  which  hibernate  safely  and 
snugly  when  the  chill  gets  into  their  blood. 

Some  confessed  that  in  their  anticipated  otimn 
cum  dignitate  they  found  neither  dignity  nor  ease. 
As  for  dignity,  having  shown  a  disposition  to  drop 
the  world,  the  world  reciprocated  the  slight  by 

299 


300  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

dropping  thorn.  This  might  have  boon  expected,  for 
mutujil  service  is  ever  the  bond  of  mutual  respect. 
The  world  has  so  many  hurts  that  it  ignores  any  one 
who  does  not  carry  with  him  a  little  court-plaster, 
or  have  a  sunshiny  face  for  its  sanitation.  We  must 
not  seek  to  retire  within  ourselves,  but  to  get  closer 
to  kindred  humanity.  We  should  use  our  freedom 
from  other  cares  to  cultivate 

"A  heart  at  leisure  from  Itself 
To  soothe  and  sympathize." 

I  felt  greatly  complimented  the  other  day  when  a 
ragged  urchin  of  some  four  years  held  me  up  on  the 
sidewalk  with,  "  Say,  mister,  won't  you  fix  my 
wagon?  It's  done  got  broke."  I  thanked  the  child 
for  asking  me.  He  forgot  to  thank  me,  in  his  eager 
delight  that  his  wagon  worked  again.  But  his  glee 
was  better  than  any  words.  It  is  good  to  have  even 
the  dumb  brutes  neigh  or  bark  or  purr  at  you. 
Charles  Kingsley  could  never  have  grown  old  with 
this  sentiment : 

*  *  Do  the  work  that 's  nearest, 
Though  it's  dull  at  whiles, 
Helping  when  you  meet  them 
Lame  dogs  over  stiles. ' ' 

As  for  the  comforts  of  retirement;  having  brought 
with  themselves  into  their  social  retreats  the  habits 
of  restless  activity  induced  by  their  past  lives, 
many  discover  more  aches  than  easements  in  trying 
to  sit  still.    There  are  those  who  have  made  enough 


KETIREMENT  301 

money  to  "  blow  themselves  "  into  any  Inxury,  and 
yet  feel  as  Lord  Byron  says  that  Childe  Harold  did : 

**With  pleasure  drugged,  he  almost  longed  for  woe, 
And  e'en  for  change  of  scene  would  seek  the  shades 
below. ' ' 

A  lawyer  of  my  acquaintance,  affected  by  what 
he  imagined  to  be  the  hook-worm  of  weariness  with 
the  routine  of  his  profession,  retired  from  court  and 
office,  but  frequently  caught  himself  at  night  argu- 
ing a  case  before  His  Honor  the  bedpost. 

Once  when  voyaging  through  Sicilian  seas  I  was 
struck  with  the  sombre  and  discontented  look  on 
the  face  of  a  fellow  passenger.  I  hesitated  to  ad- 
dress him,  feeling  that  he  might  be  a  willing  xu'is- 
oner  to  his  own  thought,  nursing  some  bitter  mem- 
ory, or  pondering  some  problem  too  weighty  for 
lesser  minds  to  appreciate.  Feeling  somewhat 
chatty  I  at  length  accosted  him.  Instead  of  resent- 
ing the  intrusion  he  welcomed  it.  Learning  that  I 
was  travelling  alone  he  almost  embraced  me. 

"  It  will  be  a  godsend,  sir,  if  you  will  let  me  walk 
and  talk  with  you  on  shipboard.  I'm  alone  too; 
and  the  feeling  of  it  almost  literally  puts  me  *  be- 
tween the  Devil  and  the  deep  sea.'  I'm  not  a  mur- 
derer nor  a  thief,  but  neither  of  those  individuals 
could  be  a  worse  comrade  than  I  am  to  myself." 

I  learned  that  the  man  had  been  a  prosperous 
cotton-broker  in  New  Orleans.  Having  amassed  an 
independent  fortune  he  determined  to  become  an 
independent  liver,  see  the  world,  sip  its  pleasures, 


302  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

and  get  rid  of  all  its  detailed  obligations.  He  had 
marked  out  for  himself  a  two  years'  itinerary  de 
luxe.  He  was  now  only  in  the  second  month  of  his 
anticipated  Paradise,  but  was  already  wearied  with 
the  monotony  of  incessantly  seeing  something  new. 
He  was  as  restless  to  get  home  to  the  flats,  the 
levees,  the  torrid  streets  and  stuffy  offices  of  New 
Orleans  as  a  horse  is  to  get  back  to  his  stable  after 
the  shortest  drive.  For  his  accustomed  crib  among 
the  cotton  bales,  the  pawing  of  the  trade  hoofs  of 
his  business  associates  on  the  floor  of  the  Exchange, 
he  was  ready  to  give  up  the  snowy  sides  of  Etna,  the 
oj^alescent  waters  of  the  Ionian  Sea,  and  all  the 
gods  of  Olympus. 

The  reason  for  this  ennui  in  the  most  entrancing 
spot  on  the  globe  was  that  his  mind  had  been  un- 
trained to  anything  except  his  special  business.  He 
had  never  communed  with  the  Homeric  deities 
whose  names  are  perpetuated  on  headland  and  isle ; 
never  felt  the  touch  of  the  sublime  in  nature;  was 
not  familiar  with  history  or  art;  and  knew  too  lit- 
tle of  the  things  that  tourists  seek  even  to  converse 
interestedly  with  his  fellow  voyagers.  But  he  was  a 
"  successful  man,"  and  no  doubt  had  provided  for  a 
monument  in  the  cemetery  which  should  perpetuate 
his  local  celebrity  as  a  prominent  citizen  and  an  ex- 
ample to  the  ambitious  young  men  of  the  coming 
generation. 

But  lack  of  culture  is  not  the  only  drawback  to 
contented  retirement.  Among  my  acquaintances 
was  a  lady  who  had  been  a  noted  cantatrice  on  two 


EETIREMENT  303 

continents.  Almost  from  girlhood  she  had  been  the 
favorite  of  courts  and  crowds.  Impresarios  had 
bid  high  for  her  voice  to  augment  their  gains,  and 
the  gems  of  princes  loaded  her  toilet-table.  This 
world-songstress  had  scarcely  reached  middle  life 
when  some  wicked  bacterial  imp  of  darkness,  hav- 
ing no  discernment  in  his  work,  preyed  upon  those 
rarest  of  vocal  cords.  She  retired  from  the  stage 
and  the  lime-light.  The  remainder  of  lier  life  was 
spent  in  bitter-sweet  reminiscence  of  what  she  had 
once  been.  She  was  no  longer  a  life,  but  only  a 
memory.  She  had  many  other  gifts  of  talent  and 
disposition  which  would  have  made  her  a  popular 
leader  in  almost  any  circle  had  she  been  inclined  to 
enter  it,  but  she  buried  herself  in  her  past,  and  was 
apparently  more  depressed  with  the  weight  of  the 
pall  than  cheered  by  its  spangles. 

I  am  convinced  from  both  observation  and  ex- 
perience that,  unless  one  has  some  other  resource  of 
satisfaction  than  those  provided  by  business,  pro- 
fession, or  the  passing  incidents  of  active  life,  the 
lure  of  retirement  will  prove,  as  Hudibras  puts  it : 

"An  ignis  fatuus  that  bewitches 
And  leads  men  into  pools  and  ditches, ' ' 

My  own  case  I  conceived  would  be  different 
since  my  real  interests  in  life  had  been  those  of  a 
general  student  of  affairs  rather  than  in  the  de- 
tailed routine  of  a  practitioner  of  my  special  call- 
ing. 


304  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAT 

I  could  spend  my  time  in  reading.  For  this  I  had 
a  voracious  appetite,  and  my  slielves  were  full  of 
uncut  leaves  vi^hicli  I  would  consume  with  the  de- 
light of  a  silkworm  on  a  mulberry  tree.  Or,  if  the 
impulse  should  seize  me — as  no  doubt  it  would,  for 
I  was  somewhat  of  a  crank  for  controversy — I  could 
write;  and,  as  I  had  not  made  myself  altogether 
objectionable  with  publishers  and  journalists,  my 
pen  splutterings  might  be  reduced  to  print.  Or,  if 
occasion  should  call  for  it,  I  could  go  to  the  plat- 
form and  orate  upon  the  vital  topics  of  the  day. 
And  then,  if  through  failure  of  the  flesh  or  failure 
of  the  public  to  listen,  this  were  denied  to  me,  I 
could  at  least  adopt  the  role  of  a  dilettante  phi- 
losopher, sit  on  the  fence,  and  amuse  myself  in 
criticizing  the  passing  throng  of  humanity.  Beside 
all  these  I  had  some  hobbies  I  could  ride,  and  thus 
make  my  own  merry-go-round  divertisements  in  the 
side-show  of  existence. 

Other  considerations  helped  my  resolution  to  slip 
off  the  yoke.  For  instance,  I  found  that  anything 
like  mere  personal  success  had  become  suddenly  de- 
magnetized as  an  incentive.  Ambition  for  secular 
gain  had  xjlayed  itself  out.  My  children  were  grown 
and  doing  for  themselves,  so  there  was  no  longer 
need  that  I  work  for  their  support,  and  my  savings 
were  enough  to  keep  the  marrow  in  my  bones. 

I  now  realized,  what  I  had  scarcely  thought  of 
formerly,  that  love  and  anxiety  for  those  dearest  to 
us  furnish  a  large  part  of  the  stimulus  of  endeavor. 
If  the  world  by  some  new  ordering  of  nature  should 


RETIREMENT  305 

be  jjeopled  with  bachelors,  even  though  they  were 
endowed  with  limitless  loDjj,evity,  most  human  en- 
terprises would  fail.  Genius,  like  Thoreau,  would 
be  tempted  to  slip  away  into  a  cabin  in  the  woods. 
Dull  greed  would  doze  in  slipi^ered  ease ; — that  is,  if 
there  were  left  in  men,  without  the  altruism  of  fam- 
ily love,  enough  grit  to  build  fireplaces  and  buy 
slippers. 

The  same  is  largely  true  of  the  desire  for  repute, 
especially  for  applause.  Unless  renown  echoes  in 
other  ears  close  to  our  own,  it  at  length  becomes 
empty  clatter. 

I  once  watched  a  noted  orator  whose  wife  and  a 
few  intimate  friends  were  in  his  audience.  At  every 
burst  of  applause  he  turned  toward  the  little  group, 
and  caught  new  inspiration  from  their  gratifica- 
tion. I  recall  one  of  the  most  stage-hardened  ]U'ima 
donnas,  in  answering  the  calls  before  the  curtain, 
having  bowed  right  and  left  and  forward,  made  her 
hand-kiss  to  her  mother  who  sat  in  a  specially  re- 
served seat.  I  think  of  Pope's  dictum  only  to  ques- 
tion it: 

** Self-love,  the  spring  of  motion,  acts  the  soul." 

In  my  own  case — and  I  make  no  plea  of  modesty 
— the  glamour  of  mere  repute  faded  like  October 
leaves  with  advancing  years  and  lessening  loves. 
The  esteem  of  the  few  who  lived  in  my  heart  became 
more  to  me  than  any  commendation  of  strangers, 
however  many  or  notable. 

And  how  rapidly  strangers  were  taking  the  place 


306  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

of  familiars  as  the  years  did  tlieir  inevitable  work ! 
To  seek  goodly  re^jorts  from  the  outside,  as  I  con- 
fess I  had  done  in  earlier  life,  was  now  positively 
distasteful.  My  scrap-book  of  j)assing  memorials 
was  utterly  neglected,  and  most  of  the  earlier  images 
found  their  place  in  the  fire,  notwithstanding  that 
a  remnant  of  juvenile  vanity  would  now  and  then 
tickle  me,  if  it  was  touched  in  exactly  the  right  spot 
— the  mind's  funny-bone — by  some  even  trilling  suc- 
cess. My  old  dog  and  I  are  alike.  He  will  still 
raise  one  ear  and  wag  his  tail  when  patted,  though 
he  shows  by  the  brevity  of  the  spasm  that  he  would 
rather  be  left  alone. 

I  must  mention  the  failure  of  another  incentive 
to  continued  activity.  The  one  closest  to  me  had 
passed  aAvay.  For  forty  years  she  had  been  like 
one  lobe  of  my  brain  as  well  as  of  my  heart.  We 
had  shared  each  other's  thoughts.  Except  when  it 
was  in  purely  extemporaneous  form  she  knew  be- 
forehand what  I  would  say  in  public,  every  subject 
upon  which  1  was  working,  every  case  of  interest. 
She  was  my  gentlest,  but  severest,  critic,  for  she 
erased  my  errors  by  wisely  correcting  my  own  logic, 
and  made  my  own  conscience — which  had  practi- 
cally become  her  conscience — show  me  my  faults. 
Hers  was  not  so  much  an  associated  mind  as  it  was 
an  inner  mind,  that  seemed  to  look  out  from  some 
deeper  centre  of  my  own  soul,  and  discern  more 
clearly  than  I  saw  myself  what  I  meant,  or  at  least 
what  I  ought  to  mean.  The  bond  that  united  us 
was  more  than  love ;  it  was  unreserved  friendship. 


EETIKEMENT  307 

I  am  aware  that  some  will  think  T  have  reversed 
these  terms  from  their  proper  sequence ;  but  others 
will  appreciate  the  expression  as  it  stands. 

As  the  knight  in  the  tournament  measured  his 
strokes,  ever  conscious  of  the  glance  of  his  ladye 
faire,  so  I  was  never  able  to  divest  myself  of  the 
sentiment  of  chivalric  obedience.  I  laid  every 
trophy  at  my  wife's  feet,  and  in  her  look  I  read 
consolation  for  every  failure.  When,  therefore,  she 
passed  beyond  she  took  with  her  through  the  cloud- 
gates  the  better  part  of  myself.  What  was  left  was 
emptied  of  its  accustomed  incentives,  as  the  flavor 
escapes  when  the  box  that  holds  the  ointment  is 
broken. 

The  'New  Liberty. 

I,  therefore,  cut  the  cords  of  professional  obliga- 
tions, except  in  cases  where  long  professional  ex- 
perience might  enable  me  to  render  such  service  as 
could  not  be  equally  well  rendered  by  others. 

With  retirement  from  routine  obligations  began, 
except  for  sorrowful  reminiscences,  the  most  con- 
tented part  of  my  life.  No  one  was  master  of  my 
time  or  thoughts;  and  if  only  I  could  have  self- 
control,  and  did  not  forget  my  own  ideals,  I  could 
put  my  best  elements  into  the  dictator's  chair.  But 
alas,  that  "  if  " !  How  often  it  has  proved  revolu- 
tionary and  overturned  personal  self-government ! 

The  best  thing  about  my  new  liberty  from  the  pro- 
fessional race-track  was  that  it  allowed  me  breath- 
ing spells,  in  which  I  could  cool  off  inordinate  im- 


308  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

pulses,  check  over-hasty  i)iirposes,  and  take  daily 
doses  of  "  sober  second  thoughts."  I  could  now 
make  engagements  with  myself — the  most  impor- 
tant individual  to  deal  with,  and  the  one  who  gives 
us  most  trouble  if  we  don't  live  up  to  our  contracts. 
I  said,  "  I  need  now  advocate  nothing  that  does  not 
aj)peal  to  my  deepest  convictions;  need  follow  no 
coterie  or  crowd  because  of  the  bonds  of  associa- 
tion ;  need  fear  no  one's  opi^osition ;  can  change  my 
views  about  things  in  the  waters  above  or  the  earth 
beneath  without  involving  my  party  or  my  church 
in  any  mistake  I  may  make." 

I  appreciate  this  phase  of  personal  liberty,  espe- 
cially as  I  read  over  again  a  letter  received  during 
the  war.  The  writer  is  a  clergyman  belonging  to 
one  of  the  State  churches  of  Europe.  He  has  lost 
his  faith,  not  in  Christianity,  but  in  some  tenets 
peculiar  to  the  ecclesiastical  institution  with  which 
he  is  identified.  To  announce  at  once  publicly  his 
change  of  views  would  cost  him  his  present  posi- 
tion as  an  army  chaplain,  in  which  he  is  very  useful, 
ministering  to  the  wounded  and  bereaved  in  the  ter- 
rible  war.  He  writes  to  me,  for  he  must  tell  some- 
body of  the  deep  currents  struggling  in  his  soul; 
and  I  am  across  the  seas,  so  that  he  may  speak  in 
a  confidence  he  might  not  wisely  show  toward  any 
one  in  his  home  parish.  It  is  not  with  him  a  ques- 
tion of  obedience  to  his  church.  That  he  could  set- 
tle instantly  by  open  dissent,  taking  the  conse- 
quences as  every  man  has  a  right  to  do.  But  un- 
fortunately his  conflict  is  between  two  great  and 


RETIREMENT  309 

solemn  duties, — duty  of  honor  to  himself  as  an  hon- 
est thinker,  and  duty  of  love  to  hundreds  of  the 
mangled  boys  on  the  battle-field,  whom  he  will  be 
permitted  to  serve  only  in  his  chaplain's  uniform. 

Many  a  clergyman  feels  a  similar  antagonism  be- 
tween his  usefulness  and  the  details  of  a  narrow 
creed  or  the  martinet  control  of  little  ecclesiastics. 
Many  a  lawyer  feels  the  conflict  between  his  sense 
of  absolute  right  and  some  particular  duty  to  a 
client.  Many  a  statesman  feels  it  between  his  oppor- 
tunity to  practically  serve  his  country  only  through 
party  agency  and  his  conviction  that  his  party  is 
wrong  in  some  of  its  shibboleths.  No  man  in  any 
sort  of  public  life  can  escape  at  times  the  feeling  of 
inconsistency. 

"  Consistency  is  a  jewel."  But  sometimes  incon- 
sistency will  cash  for  more  real  truth,  more  reason- 
ableness and  more  virtue  at  the  bank  of  the  soul, 
and  doubtless  also  on  the  account  books  of  Heaven. 

I  congratulated  myself  also  in  that,  without 
harming  others,  I  could  now  break  with  some  of  my 
past  notions;  go  squarely  back  on  some  former 
cock-sure  declarations ;  realize  that  I  didn't  know  a 
lot  of  things  I  once  thought  I  knew.  There  is  a 
wonderful  exhilaration  in  standing  at  the  opening 
of  vistas  from  which  one  has  been  previously  barred 
by  conventional  preoccupations  and  engagements. 

Best  of  all  I  was  free  from  myself.  Like  a  mov- 
ing river  I  could  slip  by  my  banks,  and  need  not 
stagnate  at  the  old  water-holes.  Siegfried  couldn't 
weld  securely  the  parts  of  his  broken  sword.     He 


310  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

must  grind  it  up  and  recast  its  particles  into  a  new 
blade.  Our  moral  and  mental  metal  must  at  times 
be  similarly  treated. 

I  bow  my  head  here  and  say  a  prayer, — God  grant 
that  I  may  not  inadvertently  think  a  bit  of  the 
broken  blade  to  be  the  whole  new  sword,  and  be- 
come an  opinionated,  cranky  old  man,  j)resuming  to 

**  Teach  Eternal  Wisdom  how  to  rule — 
Then  drop  into  myself — and  be  a  fool. ' ' 

Sailing  Aicay. 

A  man  who  has  been  active  for  years  and  tries  to 
retire  is  like  a  fly  in  a  spider's  web.  The  threads 
are  strong  and  exceedingly  gluey.  But,  having 
broken  through,  I  took  to  the  wing — or,  to  speak 
literally,  I  took  ship  and  sailed  away. 

New  associations  help  one  to  pull  himself  out  of 
his  old  self.  The  air  of  Europe  affects  an  occupa- 
tion-stifled American  very  much  as  a  seventh  sum- 
mer air  makes  a  locust  break  his  shell.  That  is  an 
argument  for  giving  our  college  jDrofessors  at  least 
a  Sabbatical  rest  outside  their  habitual  environ- 
ment. 

Much  of  the  advantage  of  travelling  is  that  one  is 
generally  incog.  As  nobody  knows  or  cares  who 
you  are  you  can't  talk  shop.  I  once  made  a  day's 
inland  voyage  with  a  distinguished  prelate.  His 
garb  gave  him  away.  Every  one  who  approached 
him  conversed  about  the  good  man's  diocese  or  his 
books,  or  sawed  at  the  old  knots  of  denominational 
controversy.     He  couldn't  get  outside  of  his  pro- 


RETIREMENT  311 

fessional  burrow  if  he  tried.  I  pitied  His  Reverence 
ill  spite  of  his  big  gold  cross  and  Icnee-breeches. 

Let  me  say  in  parentliosis  that  I  believe  that 
clerical  garb,  whatever  compensating  advantages  it 
may  give,  lessens  a  clergyman's  knowledge  of  fellow 
humanity.  Courtesy  to  the  cloth  leads  most  men  to 
treat  ministers  as  they  would  treat  women, — the 
seamy  side  of  life  not  shown  them.  Yet  on  that 
seamy  side  will  be  discovered  the  most  essential 
tilings  in  the  making  of  human  nature,  things  which 
a  preacher  especially  ought  to  know. 

The  same  is  measurably  true  of  men  who  are  well 
known  as  jiolitical  leaders.  Others,  aware  of  their 
opinions  and  ambitions,  hesitate  to  antagonize  them 
in  conversation.  Hence,  as  a  rule,  our  big  politi- 
cians are  the  most  ignorant  of  what  is  moving  the 
brains  of  the  multitude. 

One  does  not  fully  know  oneself  until  he  has  con- 
sorted with  many  varieties  of  the  genus  homo,  as 
one  does  not  know  the  geography  of  his  own  coun- 
try until  he  has  "  bounded  "  it.  Seeing  foreign 
lands  rubs  out  one's  American  provincialism,  and 
rubs  off  those  national  conceits  that  other  nations 
call  prickly.  It  is  good  to  take  object-lessons  in 
the  fact  that  we  are  not  the  most  scholarly,  scien- 
tific, philosophical,  free-minded,  self-respecting, 
decent-lived,  courteous,  saintly,  common-sense  peo- 
ple in  the  world.  We  are  a  new  branch  on  the  old 
tree  of  humanity,  and  haven't  yet  come  to  much 
more  than  the  twig  stage. 

It  is  especially  good  for  an  evangelical  Protestant 


312  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

to  discover  tliat  priests  and  ex-priests,  orthodox  and 
those  who  call  themselves  doubters,  may  be  equally 
religious  and  lovable,  as  one  learns  on  long  voyages 
with  them  or  in  being  shipwrecked  together  with 
them  on  the  otherwise  socially  barren  island  of  a 
foreign  hotel.  The  only  men  woi'th  despising  are 
bigots,  those  who,  Avith  God's  great  headlands  ris- 
ing everywhere  about  them,  can  reach  no  higher 
standpoint  of  observation  than  the  tijjs  of  their  own 
noses.  Some  of  my  most  profitable  acquaintances 
abroad  have  been  monseigneurs  and  Methodists, 
monks  and  masons,  boots  and  barons,  prima 
donnas  and  pension  keepers,  archaeologists  and 
dump-diggers,  linguists  who  interest  one  with  their 
erudition  not  more  than  do  the  peasants  with  their 
patois.  It  is  good  to  realize,  because  it  is  true,  that 
you  are  only  a  tiny  splinter  of  the  monolithic  moun- 
tain called  Man,  and  that  you  ought  to  care  little 
if,  while  civilization  is  tunnelling  its  way,  you  have 
had  a  spark  struck  out  from  your  personality  or  not 
to  attract  the  eyes  of  others. 

» 

Drifting  With  the  Ages. 

A  great  delight  while  residing  abroad  has  been  to 
reread  what  I  thought  to  be  familiar  history  on  the 
spots  where  the  events  occurred.  I  soon  discovered 
that,  while  my  memory  had  retained  most  of  the 
facts,  I  had  previously  caught  from  the  written 
page  as  little  of  its  spirit  as  a  landsman  who  only 
looks  at  a  "  ])ainted  ship  on  a  x^ainted  ocean  "  gets 
from  it  the  soul  of  the  sea. 


EETIREMENT  313 

For  instance,  when  one  sits  on  the  stone  seats  of 
the  theatre  at  Syracuse  in  Sicily  and  Ivnows  that 
they  were  once  occupied  by  men  and  women  who 
lived  and  died  long  before  Christianity,  one  feels 
kinship  with  the  scarcely  shirted  rustics  whom 
Theocritus  made  immortal  as  his  heroes.  The  ages 
seem  to  become  cemented  together  into  solidarity 
when  one  is  in  the  Arena  at  Verona,  trying  to  re- 
peojjle  it  with  the  old  Roman  crowds,  while  a  regi- 
ment of  Italian  Bersaglieri  dashes  by  at  double- 
quick.  To  spend  Saturday  among  the  Druid  stones 
of  Cheswick  and  Sunday  in  a  Presbyterian  con- 
venticle in  Edinburgh  is  good  for  a  theologian,  un- 
less he  be  a  fool.  It  is  well  for  a  stickler  for  forms 
and  orders  to  stand  bestride  a  hole  in  a  slab  and  re- 
call the  fact  that  down  through  that  hole  once  ran 
the  blood  of  a  bull,  and  fell  upon  the  head  of  a  jjriest 
being  ordained  to  the  service  of  Mithra.  Medita- 
tion about  the  Normans  while  loitering  on  Pont 
Neuf  in  Paris,  followed  by  a  stroll  around  the  Tuil- 
leries  and  a  night  at  the  Grand  Opera  House,  mixes 
one's  gray  matter  into  better  substance. 

Such  things  make  one  feel  kinship  with  multitu- 
dinous humanity.  It  takes  away  one's  conceit,  in- 
dividual, national  and  racial,  to  see  that  human 
nature  is  ever  the  same ;  to  realize  that,  to  one  look- 
ing down  from  the  heights  of  time,  the  changing 
customs  of  human  generations  would  no  more  break 
the  monotony  of  the  real  scene  than  the  changes  in 
an  ant-hill  when  studied  by  us. 

Now  this  is  humiliating.    It  makes  one  feel  like 


314  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

crying  with  Elijah,  ^^Take  away  my  life;  I  am  no 
better  than  my  fathers !  " 

Then  comes  the  reaction.  One  feels  the  greatness 
of  one's  own  humanity,  as  something  infinitely  be- 
yond individuality  environed  with  local  limita- 
tions. The  traveller  fills  his  chest  with  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  Ages  and  says,  ^'  We  built  the 
Pyramids.  We  discovered  the  stars  and  the  Poles, 
TFe  built  empires;  shook  the  earth  with  our  wars 
and  reestablished  the  foundations  of  a  better  civi- 
lization." Except  God,  "  in  whom  we  live  and  move 
and  have  our  being,"  there  is  nothing  so  splendid  as 
a  man.  An  autumn  leaf,  if  it  had  appreciation, 
would  not  whistle  a  tiny  dirge  in  falling,  but,  like  a 
banner  lowered  at  nightfall,  it  would  salute  with  its 
fluttering  beauty  the  glory  of  which  it  had  been  a 
part. 


XIII 
BUNGALOW  DAYS 

ON  my  return  home  after  long  sojourns 
abroad,  to  gently  assure  myself  that  I  had 
really  retired  from  the  world  and  its 
vanities,  I  imitated  other  ascetics,  and  built  me  a 
cell,  at  least  a  lodge,  in  the  wilderness.  The  spot 
selected  was,  when  seen  from  its  own  immediate 
standpoint,  utterly  lost  in  a  trackless  forest;  but, 
when  bounded  by  the  rest  of  creation,  it  was  just 
within  the  edge  of  the  woods;  so  that,  if  I  could 
hear  the  whoop  of  the  owl  in  the  twilight,  the 
grunting  of  the  ground-hog  at  noonday,  or  the  morn- 
ing calls  of  the  birds  that  sing  their  matins  to  the 
sun,  I  could  also  hear  the  rmuble  of  a  passing  auto, 
the  halloo  of  a  chummy  neighbor,  and  the  dinner 
call  from  the  family  house. 

I  have  learned  from  some  attempts  at  it  that  too 
deep  a  solitude  is  not  conducive  to  the  best  mental 
activity.  It  may  help  one  to  sink  the  lead  of  medi- 
tation deeper  into  the  mud  of  one's  imagined  ex- 
perience, but  I  doubt  if  it  clarifies  the  depths. 
Possibly  I  am  too  stupid  to  be  left  alone,  and  need 
the  prodding  of  suggestions  from  without.  Quiet 
affects  me  as  a  belt  of  calm  affects  a  sail.  Some 
minds  are  like  motor-boats;  they  carry  their  own 

315 


316  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

propulsive  power — John  tlie  Baptist  and  John  Bur- 
rouglis,  for  instance — but  we  ordinary  men  need  ex- 
ternal stimulus. 

I  find  that  the  white  and  black  page  of  a  book, 
the  fly-tracks  of  the  greatest  mind  that  has  crawled 
over  it,  are  apt  to  be  without  inspiration.  There  is 
needed  close  at  hand  the  soul-glow  of  a  thoughtful 
face,  the  emphasis  of  the  living  voice,  the  response 
of  the  quick  repartee  or  the  kindly  debate  to  keep 
one  fully  alert.  That  "  nest  in  the  wilderness  "  may 
be  a  good  thing  for  moulting  doves,  but  is  the  last 
place  for  a  man  to  fly  to  unless  he  is  pursued  by 
the  sherife. 

My  exclusive  bit  of  the  universe  was,  therefore, 
just  within  the  j)rimeval  forest.  So  I  judged  it  to 
be  from  the  inextricable  tangle  of  underbrush,  the 
interlacing  of  trees  overhead,  and  the  dense  "  con- 
tiguity of  shade  "  all  round.  Scarcely  a  foot  had 
penetrated  so  far,  unless  it  were  hoofed  like  a  deer's 
foot  or  moccasined  like  that  of  a  wildcat.  Here 
and  there  was  a  gnarled  and  scraggy  apple-tree, 
with  fruit  too  hard  and  knotted  to  allow  the  sun- 
shine to  sweeten  and  ripen  it.  Was  it  an  aboriginal 
relic  of  wild  growth  or  the  degenerate  scion  of  a 
planted  orchard?  The  oldest  inhabitant  could  not 
decide.  Yonder  was  the  ruin  of  an  ancient  w^all  of 
stones.  But  this  led  no  whither,  and  may  have 
marked  the  disappointment  of  some  settler  of  long 
ago  in  finding  the  ground  inhospitable  to  the  plow. 
Great  boulders  scattered  about  might  be  the  mono- 
lithic monuments  of  the  victory  of  original  nature 


BUNGALOAV  DAYS  317 

over  tlie  assaults  of  civilization.  Giant  pines,  rest- 
ing in  tlie  dee])  beds  of  their  own  needles,  seemed  to 
be  dreaming  of  unknown  centuries.  Ferns  stood 
high  above  the  liea^js  of  black  mould  and  inter- 
twisted roots,  like  the  coral  flowers  in  the  reefs 
built  upon  their  own  dead  generations.  Wild 
flowers  were  in  such  profusion  and  such  varieties 
that  surely  no  botanist  had  ever  tried  to  set  them  in 
scientific  array. 

So,  though  not  far  from  the  world  of  humanity,  I 
went  far  "  back  to  Nature's  heart "  for  my  bunga- 
low. I  was  attracted  to  the  exact  site  by  a  little 
opening  in  the  thicket  that  showed  to  the  west, — 
like  my  years.  A  wide  valley,  then  a  ridge  of  hills 
that  shut  out  the  finality  of  sunset,  fascinated  me 
because  it  was  so  much  like  the  mystery  that  ob- 
scures the  life  horizon,  however  bright  it  may  be 
with  faith's  anticipation.  A  solitary  house,  too,  in 
the  distance  reminded  me  how  few  are  those  re- 
maining who  are  tabernacling  nearer  to  the  sunset 
than  I  am. 

A  comparatively  cheap  bungalow  has  charms 
that  no  residentially-furnished  house  can  match. 
The  latter  makes  one  feel  that  he  is  more  owned 
than  owner.  The  very  door-mat  is  a  sort  of  bristly 
butler  that  denies  your  admittance  to  your  own 
property  until  you  have  bowed  and  scraped  yourself 
into  prescribed  society  appearance.  The  furniture 
is  not  so  much  your  own  selection  as  it  is  a  tribute 
to  the  taste  of  the  cabinet-maker  and  upholsterer, 
and  if  it  is  less  homely  it  is  also  less  homelike.    The 


318  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

parlor  pictures  are  a  little  too  familiar,  for — unless 
they  are  iu  oil  with  the  artist's  mark  in  the  corner — 
you  may  see  their  duplicates  and  multiplicates  in 
the  i^arlors  of  your  neighbors  who  bought  them  in 
the  same  shops.  The  spirit  of  one's  fine  "  resi- 
dence "  seems  to  be  that  of  an  over-tidy  housewife 
who  warns  you,  "  Don't  lie  tliere !  "  "  Don't  smoke 
here !  "    "  Be  careful  everywhere !  " 

I  recall  a  wealthy  gentleman  whom  I  used  to  visit 
at  his  palatial  residence  on  Fifth  Avenue.  After 
showing  me  his  half -mill  ion  picture  gallery  and 
enough  curios  to  enrich  a  x)ublic  museum,  he  would 
say, — "  Now  come  and  see  where  I  myself  live." 
We  would  retire  to  a  small  room,  the  cartridge- 
papered  walls  of  which  made  a  good  background  for 
cheap  engravings,  jihotographs  of  scenes  he  had 
visited  and  faces  he  admired,  some  of  them  cut  from 
the  magazines,  a  melange  suitable  for  a  college- 
room  or  a  Bohemian  artist's  garret. 

"  Take  a  chair !  Better  take  two !  "  he  would  say, 
and  himself  set  the  example, — one  for  his  body,  the 
other  for  his  feet.  "  Now  let's  have  a  talk.  A 
pipe?  or  a  cigar?  The  women  folks  can  have  the 
rest  of  the  house." 

My  bungalow  serves  me  similarly.  To  decorate 
it  I  ransacked  the  residential  attic  for  things  that 
were  too  valuable  to  destroy  and  not  good  enough 
for  display,  each  of  which  had,  however,  a  mean- 
ing for  my  eye  and  memory :  scenes  from  travel,  bits 
of  art-study,  strong  faces  of  strong  men,  saints, 
madonnas,  and  opera  singers  I  had  heard,  together 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  319 

with  family  portraits  of  tlie  five  generations  I  have 
lv:nown,  which  consecutively  would  cover  two  hun- 
dred years  or,  say,  one-twentieth  of  the  period  of 
known  himian  history.  Here  is  food  for  mental 
entertainment  even  should  I  lapse  into  second  child- 
hood. 

For  comfort  there  is  a  heavy  chestnut  board, 
resting  on  four  unbarked  legs  cut  from  the  forest 
just  outside,  which  serves  for  an  omnium- gather  urn. 
library  table, — the  gift  and  workmanship  of  a 
friend — a  few  wicker  chairs  with  lines  drawn  to 
meet  one's  back  in  its  laziest  mood;  a  wide  and 
smoke-blackened  fireplace  with  crane  and  kettle;  a 
pile  of  logs  with  the  resin  in  them  ready  to  sing 
songs  when  the  blaze  shall  make  the  shadows  dance 
among  the  open  rafters ;  my  old  rifle  that  could  tell 
yarns  enough  to  wreck  one's  reputation  for  verac- 
ity; some  old  books  the  very  backs  of  which  are 
reminiscent  of  their  twice  or  thrice  read  contents ; 
and  a  few  of  the  newest  books  to  remind  me  that  I 
am  still  in  the  world  throbbing  with  exciting  inter- 
ests. Over  the  door  hangs  a  bell  with  its  curiously 
carved  yoke  that  once  graced  the  neck  of  a  goat 
which  bleated  at  me  on  the  slopes  of  Etna ;  this  will 
warn  me  if  any  interloper  should  steal  in  upon  my 
midday  snooze ;  while  a  seventy-five  millimeter  shell 
from  the  battle-field  of  the  Marne,  suspended  above 
my  table,  gives  adequate  warning  of  the  terrible 
consequences  to  any  tramp  invaders. 

Safely  nested  in  a  hammock  that  swings  from  a 
rafter,  like  the  nest  of  an  oriole  susj)ended  from  a 


320  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

limb  of  a  tree,  I  listen  to  the  monotonous  "  thump, 
thump  "  of  a  distant  mill,  and  my  drowsy  thoughts 
fall  into  a  rhythmic  imitation : 

Each  day  I'll  lie  among  my  books 
That  line  the  shelves  and  fill  the  nooks. 
Books  are  the  souls  of  greater  men 
Who  come  from  everywhere  and  when, 
Laden  with  lore  and  happy  thought 
That  gold  and  silver  never  bought. 
Like  old-time  friends  around  they  stand, 
And  wait  to  speak  at  my  command, 
And  tell  of  everything  they've  seen 
In  all  the  provinces  they've  been, 
Of  nature,  science  or  of  art, 
In  realms  of  fancy  and  of  heart — 
Some  trifling  things,  but  most  profound, 
Of  earth  and  sky  and  underground ; 
Things  deep  as  soul  and  high  as  faith — 
Whatever  man  or  angel  saith. 

And  then  some  day  I'll  lie  quite  still, 
Obedient  to  my  Maker's  will, 
And  give  no  sign,  nor  round  me  look 
On  wall  or  chair  or  open  book, 
And  answer  not  to  loved  ones'  call — 
Held  in  the  Final  Mystery's  thrall, 
My  soul  will  then  have  gone  away 
Mid  deeper  worlds  than  ours  to  stray. 
To  learn  of  things  that  ne'er  were  told 
By  writer  here,  the  new  or  old — 
Those  things  that  pass  the  range  of  sense 
And  give  to  thought  no  recompenee — 
Of  lands  too  fair  for  artist's  skill 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  321 

To  paint  their  charm  of  vale  and  hill — 
Whose  seas  are  sunset's  blended  lights; 
Whose  days  are  bounded  not  by  nights ; 
Whose  streams  are  Life  itself,  and  pour 
Prom  out  God's  heart  forevermore. 
.  .  .  Deep,  reap,  keep,  weep. — 
Dear  me,  I  must  have  dropped  to  sleep. 

When  I  awake  the  pictures  pinned,  tacked  or 
hung  on  the  j^lain  boarded  walls  of  the  bungalow 
start  in  me  each  its  memory.  That  one  was  made 
by  the  fingers  of  one  of  America's  most  promising 
artists ;  fingers  that  one  day — how  terrible  the  shock 
to  me! — suddenly  trembled,  then  dropped  forever 
moveless;  but  which  I  still  feel  clasping  mine  in 
our  rollicking  friendship  of  long  ago. 

That  photograph  yonder  is  the  face  of  a  brilliant 
young  journalist  and  fellow  traveller.  A  young 
lady  comes  in  and  looks  at  it.  "  Yes ;  that  is  my 
father.  I  have  no  remembrance  of  him.  I  was 
too  young.     Please  talk  to  me  about  him." 

There  is  a  pencil  sketch  of  a  ruined  doorway  on 
the  Palatine  Hill  in  Rome.  How  much  more  T  can 
see  in  it  than  any  one  else  can!  Amid  the  ruins 
my  eye  seems  to  catch  a  heroic  figure.  It  wears 
neither  crown  nor  sword ;  only  the  black  robe  of  a 
modern  priest — the  man  who  made  the  picture  and 
gave  it  to  me.     I  must  tell  his  story. 

Padre had  been  a  somewhat  noted  pulpit 

orator  in  Rome,  very  popular  in  clerical  circles.  I 
felt  honored,  almost  distinguished,  by  his  call  upon 
me  at  my  hotel.     I  spent  a  delightful  half  hour 


322  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

listening  to  his  conversation  about  the  arts  and 
history  of  the  city;  he  identified  so  many  ancient 
things  and  repeopled  so  many  forgotten  places  out 
of  the  full  store  of  his  information.  He  rose  to  go ; 
but,  as  his  card  bore  no  address,  I  ventured  to  ask 
where  I  might  return  his  visit.  He  hesitated  a 
moment,  then  said : 

"  I  have  no  home  address ;  but  you  will  find  me 

any  morning  in  the Gallery,  where  I  have 

an  easel." 

My  expression  of  surprise  brought  a  sad  story. 
He  had  refused  to  take  the  Anti-Modernist  oath 
prescribed  by  the  Church,  which  required  a  pledge 
that  he  would  read  no  book  or  periodical  not 
licensed  by  the  ecclesiastical  authorities.  This  re- 
fusal had  brought  him  deposition  from  his  office  as 
preacher,  excluded  him  from  the  privilege  of  cele- 
brating Mass  except  privately  for  his  personal 
edification,  and  led  to  his  being  ostracized  by  his 
fellow  jiriests.  I  learned  in  our  after  acquaintance 
that  he  was  reduced  to  abject  poverty ;  for  his  skill 
as  an  artist  was  too  meagre  to  bring  him  any  ap- 
preciable income. 

I  need  pass  no  judgment  upon  the  wisdom  or 
righteousness  of  the  ecclesiastical  regulation  from 
which  the  Padre  suffered.  I  speak  only  of  the 
tremendous  conflict  into  which  it  precipitated  the 
good  man's  soul, — a  conflict  between  his  conscience 
and  the  allurements  of  a  distinguished  career  in  the 
Church  which  he  devotedly  loved  and  in  whose 
doctrines   he   believed.     He    made    no    complaint 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  323 

against  his  superiors,  and  had  not  a  harsh  word  for 
his  fellow  priests  who  seemed  to  have  disowned 
him. 

Since  our  first  acquaintance  I  had  been  absent 
from  Rome  for  two  years.     On  returning  I  could 

for  a  long  time  find  no  trace  of  Padre  . 

Priests  of  my  acquaintance  gave  no  information 
beyond  that  indicated  by  a  significant  shrugging  of 
the  shoulders.  I  at  length  discovered  him.  He 
lived  in  the  most  squalid  part  of  the  city.  His 
tiny  room  was  furnished  with  a  cot,  a  couple  of 
broken  chairs,  an  old  easel,  his  Bible  and  Missal, 
and  a  few  books. 

Yet  the  Padre  had  found  a  mission.  He  said, 
"  There  are  a  score  or  two  young  human  rats  of  the 
lower  Tiber,  boys  that  know  nothing  about  ecclesi- 
astical matters,  who  seem  to  like  me.  They  come 
to  me  for  talks,  and  I  am  trying  to  make  of  them 
decent  men  and  good  citizens.  I  wish  I  could  lead 
them  into  the  Church,  but  you  see  that  I  cannot. 
It  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  know  that  no  author- 
ities can  prevent  me  from  doing  a  little  good." 

"  No !  No !  "  he  said  on  my  rising  to  leave,  "  I 
can  accept  no  personal  help,  unless  I  can  render  you 
some  service  in  return  for  it.  I  notice  that  your 
Italian  might  be  improved." 

So  Padre became  my  teacher.  A  more  in- 
telligent, clean-souled  and  big-hearted  man  one 
seldom  meets.  I  practiced  my  rheumatic  Italian 
on  him  in  telling  about  American  affairs,  and  he 
gave  me  model  lessons  in  the  purest  Italian  in 


324  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

tolling  me  about  liis  own  country.  If  I  approached 
the  subject  of  his  own  sorrows  he  would  reply  some- 
thing like  this :  "  It's  a  crooked  world  we  are  all 
living  in.  If  any  man  would  go  straight  with  his 
convictions  he  must  meet  obstacles,  perhaps  get 
knocked  down.  All  he  can  do  is  to  get  up  again 
and  walk  on  more  carefully.  But  let's  talk  about 
those  Italian  idiomSj  which  you  seem  to  think  are 
idiotisms/^ 

When  I  left  Rome  Padre  gave  me  that 

])encilled  sketch  of  the  ruin  on  the  Palatine  for  a 
keepsake.  My  musings  as  I  look  at  it  jiut  other 
lines  in  the  j)icture  than  those  which  the  eye  dis- 
covers. 

Nearly  all  these  engi'avings  and  ])hotograplis  on 
the  wall  are  Avindows  thi-ough  which  I  see  far  vistas 
that  start  deep  breathings.  Let  me  indulge  the 
l)rerogative  of  an  old  man  to  be  garrulous  about 
some  of  them. 

Yonder  is  pinned  up  a  iDOstal  card.  It  represents 
a  little  village  on  Lake  Garda  in  Italy.  On  the 
edge  of  the  card  is  written  a  message  from  a  young 
Italian  friend  with  whom  I,  only  a  few  years  ago, 
spent  some  happy  days  coursing  over  those  oj^ales- 
cent  waters  and  roaming  over  the  hills  that  wash 
their  feet  in  that  golden  basin  of  the  Alps.  My 
friend  was  a  Roman  lawyer  about  to  enter  the 
diplomatic  service  of  his  country,  and  with  the 
ardor  of  his  contemplated  profession  believed  that 
diplomacy  would  solve  the  problems  of  empire. 
We  were  looking  through  a  gap  in  the  mountains 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  325 

toward  the  monument  on  the  battle-field  of  Sol- 
ferino,  where  in  1859  the  Italians  and  French  Avon 
the  liberation  of  Lombardy  from  the  age-long 
tyranny  of  Austria,  and  thus  secured  the  right  of 
way  for  the  new  kingdom  of  Italy. 

"  That,  I  think,  is  the  last  monument  to  be 
erected  to  commemorate  conquest  by  bloodshed," 
said  my  friend.  "  We  are  passing  out  of  the  brute 
stage  in  the  develoi)ment  of  humanity.  Diplomacy 
hjis  taken  the  place  of  the  sword.  The  Triple 
Alliance  and  the  Triple  Entente  will  by  their  bal- 
ance hold  at  least  Europe  in  peace." 

So  he  talked,  and  I  hopefully  assented. 

A  few  months  later  came  this  postal : 

''At  the  Front.     122  Rcg't. 

"  I  am  on  the  historic  battle-ground  where 
we  were  together.     What  a  change !  " 

Two  months  later : 

"  Field  Hospital  in  the  Trentino.  Hard  to  write 
with  a  lot  of  Austrian  shell-pieces  in  my  body.  I 
am  the  only  officer  of  my  company  not  killed  out- 
right in  the  charge." 

One  year  and  half  later: 

"  Just  discharged  from  the  hospital.  Going  back 
to  the  Front." 

I  must  take  that  i)Ostal-picture  off  the  walls.     It 


32G  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

absorbs  too  much  of  my  heart's  blood  to  look  at 
it — and  think. 

Just  beyond  is  a  photograph  of  one  of  the  grand- 
est men  I  have  ever  known,  as  unselfish  as  he  was 
brainy,  incessantly  giving  of  his  time  and  money 
to  upbuild  his  community.  To-day  he  is  a  hopeless 
paralytic,  his  malady  brought  on  by  "  excessive 
exposure "  in  the  cause  of  others.  A  thousand 
philosophers  could  not  disentangle  my  thoughts  as 
I  sit  looking  at  the  picture. 

Beyond  is  the  photograph  of  one  whom  I  have 
known  from  boyhood,  and  who  has  recently  served 
a  double  term  in  the  Presidency  of  the  country. 
As  I  watch  the  rugged  features  I  recall  our  house- 
hold predictions  of  how  he  would  or  wouldn't  turn 
out,  and  especially  remember  a  brief  outing  in  the 
slum  district  when  he  was  a  lad  of  fourteen  and 
accompanied  me  on  a  private  raid,  and  how  he  ex- 
pressed a  longing  for  a  "big  stick"  to  break  up 
such  dens  of  iniquity  as  we  there  found. 

There,  too,  is  a  famous  opera-singer,  posing  in 
some  majestic  crowd-captivating  role.  But  I  think 
of  her,  not  on  the  stage,  but  sitting  by  the  big 
chimney-place  under  the  picture,  knitting  like  a 
modest  frau  and  talking  about  how  they  crocheted 
in  Germany. 

I  have  placed  the  next  two  pictures  side  by  side 
because  they  suggest  a  contrasting  facial  study. 
One  is  of  an  ideal  saint,  painted  by  Perugino,  The 
other  is  a  newspaper  print  of  a  Russian  soldier 
conscripted  from  some  bog  or  thicket  on  the  Asiatic 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  327 

border.  Honestly,  I  would  trust  the  latter  rather 
than  the  former  in  any  worldly  business.  The 
saint  is  looking  complacently  God-ward ;  the  soldier 
is  looking  good-naturedly  man-ward,  perhai)s  at 
some  other  jolly  fellow  in  the  trench ;  or  telling  how 
he  helped  a  comrade  out  of  a  death-vortex.  If  I 
should  meet  the  two  I  should  expect  the  one  to  try 
to  convert  me  into  a  monk  like  himself.  The  other 
would  go  snacks  with  me  in  his  ration. 

Self 'diagnosis  of  Old  Age. 

How  does  it  feel  to  be  an  old  man?  It  doesn't 
feel.  The  sensations  of  age  are  less  acute  than 
those  of  youth.  When  the  blood  leaps  in  our  veins 
it  jerks  us;  when  it  flows  more  placidly  it  soothes 
us.  I  know  from  reading  physiology  that  my 
arteries  are  like  an  old  garden  hose,  liable  to  break 
at  any  moment  or  with  a  slightly  extra  pressure, 
but  the  life  current  still  runs  through  them 
smoothly.  Of  course,  the  hydraulic  engine  of  the 
heart  has  rusted  valves  which  will  soon  stop  work- 
ing, but  they  work  steadily  yet.  Undoubtedly  old 
legs  couldn't  carry  so  far  as  once  they  did,  but  then 
an  old  fellow  doesn't  want  to  go  so  far ;  so  it's  an 
even  game.  I  can  sit  longer  in  my  easy-chair  with- 
out restlessness,  and  that  is  delightful.  Eyelids 
get  heavy  with  reading,  but  I  can  take  cat-naps 
without  incessant  alarm  lest  something  in  the  world 
wants  me  to  be  watching  it.  Teeth  impaired?  No, 
repaired,  and  the  workman  has  put  no  distressing 
nerves  in  them.     Eyes  dim?    Well,  I  can  see  more 


328  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

of  the  world's  broken  things  than  I  want  to,  and 
more  of  its  fair  things  that  leap  and  shine  about 
me  than  I  can  appreciate. 

Landor  said,  "Age  never  droops  into  decrepitude 
while  Fancy  stands  at  his  side,"  which  is  another 
way  of  saying  that  sentiment  keeps  the  heart  young 
though  the  marrow  dries  in  the  bones.  Austin 
Dobson  comments  on  this:  [I'll  quote  it  as  a  text 
upon  which  I  may  comment  on  Dobson.] 

' '  So  Landor  wrote  and  so  I  quote, 
And  wonder  if  he  knew ; 
There  is  so  much  to  doubt  about, — 
So  much  but  partly  true. 


a 


(I 


Can  one  make  points  with  stiffened  joints? 

Or  songs  that  breathe  and  burn  ? 
Will  not  the  jaded  Muse  refuse 

An  acrobatic  turn? 

No !  on  the  whole  the  fittest  role 

For  Age  is  the  spectator's, — 
Reclined  in  roomy  stall  behind 

The  *  paters  '  and  the  *  maters,' 

That  fondly  watch  the  pose  of  those 
Whose  thought  is  still  creative, — 

Whose  point  of  view  is  fresh  and  new. 
Not  feebly  imitative. 

Time  can  no  more  past  youth  restore 

— Or  rectify  defect ; 
But  it  can  clear  a  failing  sight 

With  light  of  retrospect." 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  329 

For  all  the  genial  poet's  "  stiffened  joints  "  and 
make-believe  pessimism,  it  is  clear  that  Dobson  be- 
strides no  spavined  Pegasus.  "  Fancy  stands  at 
his  side,"  and  proves  Landor  to  have  been  correct 
at  least  in  one  very  lovable  instance,  namely,  that 
Dobson  never  "  droops  into  decrepitude."  If  his 
bones  refuse  the  Spanish  dances  his  brain  lobes  are 
as  nimble  as  the  fingers  that  i)lay  the  castanets. 

The  rattle  of  Dobson 's  rhythm  makes  even  my 
pen  beat  the  measures,  although  I  can  no  more 
Avrite  poetry  than  club-footed  men  can  "  trip  the 
light  fantastic  toe."    Hear  how  my  heels  patter. 

Yes,  Landor 's  right.     If  Fancy  bright 

Stand  every  day  beside  me, 
There 's  no  decrepitude  of  mood 

Though  seventy  years  betide  me. 

For  I  have  found  the  Psalmist's  bound 

Of  life  to  be  as  cheery 
As  boyhood 's  days ;  no  field  to  yield 

The  thorns  and  vistas  dreary. 

The  flowers  renew  their  scent  and  hue; 

The  birds  keep  up  their  singing ; 
The  katydids  with  fiddling  feet 

Set  all  the  valleys  ringing. 

The  squirrels  trim  from  limb  to  limb 
Run  o  'er  their  airy  highways ; 

And  all  the  brooks  with  shady  nooks 
Invite  me  to  their  by-ways. 


330  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

The  forest  trees  moved  by  the  breeze 
Their  graceful  boughs  are  swaying 

Like  hands  of  priests  in  benison 
Above  a  sinner  praying, 

I  care  the  less  for  th'  scant  caress 
Of  strangers'  hands  and  faces, — 

But  aye,  the  friend  of  years  appears 
More  dear  for  mem  'ry  's  traces. 

The  madding  world  with  fashion  twirled 
Draws  from  me  naught  but  glances ; 

'Tis  but  one  step  of  th '  beating  feet 
Of  ages  in  their  dances. 

Does  thought  move  slow  ?     So  rivers  flow 
When  flooded  from  great  fountains ; 

Not  half  so  grand  the  dash  and  splash 
Of  streamlets  on  the  mountains. 

There 's  not  a  thing  that  does  not  bring 
The  thought  of  God's  own  kindness; 

The  sun  and  moon  and  stars  afar 
Drop  rays  upon  my  blindness. 

My  musing  perhaps  doesn't  follow  the  poet's 
rhythm,  but  rather  the  swish  and  whirring  of  that 
old  grist-mill  down  yonder,  whose  stones  grind  in 
a  sort  of  cadence ;  or  maybe  I  have  got  the  beat  from 
the  leg  motion  of  a  lame  tinker  who  is  coming  up 
the  road. 

Old  Age  Losses  and  Gains. 

M.J  effort  to  write  rhyme  suggests  the  question^ 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  331 

Do  I  notice  any  change  in  brain  function  due  to 
advancing  years? 

Yes,  in  some  respects  for  the  worse ;  in  some  for 
the  better.  Verbal  memory,  for  instance,  is  not 
reliable.  I  would  not  now  trust  myself  with  an 
exact  quotation  in  making  an  extemporaneous  ad- 
dress. Names  of  persons  and  places  sometimes  fail 
me  at  most  unfortunate  moments,  as  in  hastily  in- 
troducing acquaintances,  or  buying  a  railroad  ticket 
in  the  scramble  at  the  office.  I  seldom  get  out  of 
the  dilemma  as  I  did  once  in  Wales.  When  asked 
where  I  was  going  I  replied,  "  I  don't  know.  I  can 
neither  write  nor  pronounce  the  tongue-tangling 
name  of  the  town."  ^'  Oh,"  said  the  agent,  "  you 
must  be  going  to ."     He  was  right. 

I  am  surprised  to  note  that  this  mnemonic  il- 
literacy does  not  apply  to  dates.  In  earlier  days  I 
was  as  forgetful  of  them  as  some  spinsters  are  of 
their  ages,  but  latterly  I  can  fish  them  up  more 
readily.  Possibly  it  is  because,  having  grown 
familiar  with  the  sequence  of  historic  happenings, 
I  bait  my  hook  with  the  event  associated  with  the 
date. 

I  note  also  an  increasing  retentiveness  in  respect 
to  modern  languages.  As  a  young  man  a  dic- 
tionary or  grammar  was  my  hete  noire;  but  they 
are  becoming  companionable.  Since  passing  my 
seventieth  year  I  have  acquired  a  fair  reading  ac- 
quaintance with  two  Continental  languages,  and 
experience  a  growing  pleasure  in  their  study.  But 
for  less  resj)onsiveness  in  the  ear-drums  I  might 


332  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

enjoy  a  rat-a-tat  couveisation  with  the  natives  of 
the  respective  countries. 

It  is  also  easier  as  one  grows  older  to  retain  ab- 
stract truths,  principles,  generalizations,  system- 
atic groupings  of  facts  in  philosophy,  science  or 
history.  Possibly  this  is  because  these  things  are 
more  interesting  to  one  who  has  had  a  lifelong- 
habit  of  thinking  about  them;  and  interest  seems 
to  indent  anything  upon  the  memory.  That  such 
subjects  are  more  vague  than  definite  facts  does 
not  lessen  their  importance  nor  their  power  of  ap- 
peal to  the  mind,  as  the  mountains  lying  out  yonder, 
though  wrapped  in  the  haze  of  distance,  are  the 
most  significant  and  fascinating  objects  in  all  the 
landscape. 

I  console  myself  with  the  notion  that  an  old 
person  thinks  in  straighter  lines  and  with  wider 
vistas  and  therefore  with  more  simplicity  and  wis- 
dom than  a  young  person.  If  the  mind  does  not  so 
vividly  take  in  the  details,  neither  is  it  detained  by 
them,  and  so  escapes  the  danger  of  being  perplexed 
over  their  multiplicity.  It  sees  the  general  flow  of 
the  river  better  for  not  noting  all  the  curvatures  of 
its  banks.  Oftentimes  the  dimming  of  the  faculties 
may  be  rather  the  shading  of  the  mind,  which  gives 
it  clearer  vision,  as  when  one  jiuts  his  hand  over  his 
brow  to  look  farther  away.  One  may  plausibly 
strike  at  least  a  balance  between  the  losses  and 
gains  of  advancing  age.  The  mental  costs  and 
compensations  are  perhaps  equal. 

As  the  years  pass  we  lose  our  interest  in  many 


.     BUNGALOW  DAYS  333 

things  that  once  attracted  us.  This  in  an  un- 
healthy person,  one  wlio  has  prematurely  con- 
tracted senility,  may  be  due  to  failui'e  of  the  faculty 
for  appreciation.  The  mind  is  in  such  case  like  an 
old  mirror  from  which  the  quicksilver  has  drojjped 
in  sjiots,  or  its  once  pure  white  sheen  become  mil- 
dewed by  the  damp  and  dust  of  years,  so  that  it  has 
ceased  to  reflect  vividly  the  various  objects  that 
move  before  it. 

But  where  the  brain  has  been  well  preserved  by 
temperate  living,  and  the  mind  remains  unabused 
by  illogical  and  meretricious  habits  of  thinking,  the 
lack  of  interest  in  the  passing  show  of  life  may 
come  from  familiarity  with  its  characters  and  char- 
acteristics. For  much  of  the  fascination  of  things 
is  in  their  ai)peal  to  our  curiosity.  A  first  visit  to 
the  Yellowstone  Park  is  exciting.  The  spouting 
geysers,  boiling  springs,  and  calcareous  coatings  of 
rocks  and  vegetation  are  novelties.  A  second  visit 
is  apt  to  be  disappointing  because  our  wonder  has 
ceased.  So  in  early  life  almost  all  things  are 
phenomenal,  awakening  new  impressions,  startling 
us  with  little  or  great  surprises.  Later  they  are 
commonplaces.  So  was  it  with  the  Wise  Man  of 
Scripture,  who  had  seen  so  much  that  he  saw  noth- 
ing with  avidity  and  relish,  and  wrote,  "  The  thing 
that  hath  been  it  is  that  which  shall  be;  and  that 
which  is  done  is  that  which  shall  be  done ;  and  there 
is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun."  To  those  of  us 
who  are  far  less  experienced  than  Solomon  the 
world  often  seems  veiled  in  desuetude, — not  always 


334  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY  " 

innocuous,  since  it  tempts  to  pessimism :  a  disease 
to  whicli  old  people  are  less  immune  than  youth. 

An  old  story  reader  as  he  skims  book  after  book 
is  apt  to  think, — how  rarely  do  romances  make  a 
really  new  plot!  Writers  glean  from  the  older 
pages  to  garner  into  the  new.  One  does  not  find 
in  a  score  of  novels  one  really  novel  touch  of  human 
nature.  Modern  sketches  of  life  are  generally  only 
some  odd  drapings  of  the  lay  figures  which,  like  the 
leathern  breeches  of  our  ancestors,  have  served 
other  generations.  Philosophy!  Read  your  out- 
lines from  Pythagoras  to  Aristotle,  think  a  bit,  and 
save  your  money  on  the  rest  of  the  "  high-brows." 
Society!  The  same  mixture  of  rouge  and  powder, 
diamonds  and  paste,  brocade  and  fustian,  soirees 
and  slander,  elite  and  jmrvenu,  lords  and  lackeys, 
the  Four  Hundred  and  the  Four  Hundred  Mil- 
lion— you  will  find  all  American  society,  English, 
French,  German  and  Finnish  too,  in  Horace  and 
Lucian;  if  not,  try  Thackeray  or  any  last  year's 
newspaper  to  supply  what  is  lacking.  Social  gyra- 
tions, the  world  over  and  time  through,  are  like 
those  of  a  swarm  of  yellow  butterflies  on  a  dusty 
road.  How  can  one  keep  interested  in  these  old 
things  without  brain  stagnation? 

But  some  things  never  cease  to  fascinate  us. 
For  instance,  a  grand  scenic  view.  The  hills  over 
yonder  seem  grander  and  farther  away  than  they 
used  to.  This  is  because,  though  I  could  measure 
the  distance  with  a  surveyor's  chain,  it  is  too  vast 
for  the  mind  really  to  appreciate.     As  the  imagina- 


BUNGALOW  DAYS  335 

tion  expands  it  takes  in  more,  and  thus  the  vista 
seems  to  expand. 

An  artist  of  note  built  near  me  his  studio.  He 
placed  it  on  the  slope  of  a  little  valley  rather  than 
on  a  knoll  that  commands  a  glorious  outlook.  He 
explains  his  choice  thus :  "  Even  this  limited  view 
is  more  than  I  can  absorb.  See  the  variety  of  trees, 
the  ever-changing  colors,  the  graceful  folds  of  the 
hillocks,  the  twisting  brook,  the  birds  of  many 
shapes  and  songs.  Every  day  increases  my  joy  in 
it  all.  My  soul  isn't  big  enough,  nor  ever  will  be, 
to  take  in  any  more."  This  growing  capacity  of 
the  mind — which  I  believe  is  always  growing — 
makes  "  a  thing  of  beauty  a  joy  forever." 

For  the  same  reason  we  can  never  exhaust  our 
interest  in  anything  that  is  sublime.  Sublimity  is 
always  transcendent.  The  essence  of  it  is  beyond 
us.  Nothing  is  sublime  that  our  faculties  can 
bound.  Hence  it  excites  in  us  a  feeling  of  inspira- 
tion. The  thirst  deepens  as  we  drink.  A  healthy 
old  man  is  apt  to  be  a  confirmed  drunkard  in  his 
appetite  for  the  illimitable. 

Friendship  and  love  never  tire  us  for  a  similar 
reason.  A  dear  one's  heart  has  depths  deeper  than 
the  sea.  As  the  years  of  congenial  companionship 
go  by  I  read  more  and  more  in  the  face  of  my  friend ; 
find  new  charm  in  his  accents.  His  plainest  letter 
has  a  hidden  meaning.  Others  reading  it  over  my 
shoulder  would  seem  to  understand  every  word  of 
it;  to  me  the  phrases,  though  superficially  in- 
telligible, are  also  hieroglyphs  which  I  interpret 


336  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

with  a  clue  that  love  lends  me;  yet  every  time  I 
read  them  they  yield  a  new  and  fuller  meaning. 

So  I  put  friendship  among  the  sublimities.  It 
also  is  transcendental.  This  may  be  the  reason  that 
the  Bible  makes  more  of  the  love  of  God  than  of 
His  power  and  wisdom.  It  is  the  greatest  thing  in 
the  universe,  if  we  may  compare  infinities  with  in- 
finities. And  the  love  of  man  for  man  has  this 
quality  of  the  infinite:  it  is  interminable;  a  ray 
penetrating  eternity.  But  God's  love  is  infinitely 
expansive ;  not  a  ray,  but  the  fullness  of  day. 


XIV 

EECREATIONS  OF  AGE 

Memories  Revived  and  Revised. 

A  LARGE  closet  adjoins  my  house  library. 
I  call  it  the  Hall  of  the  Archives ;  the  family 
regard  it  as  my  Biographical  Ash-bin.  Into 
it  for  many  years  have  gone  scraps  of  paper  that, 
though  not  worth  littering  my  table  with,  were  too 
valuable  for  the  waste-basket.  For  several  decades 
I  had  promised  my  children  and  house-servants  to 
sift  said  refuse,  hoping  to  find  therein  some  clinkers 
that  might  be  burned  over  again. 

The  contents  of  the  old  closet  impressed  me  with 
the  immense  amount  I  had  forgotten.  There  were 
letters  from  persons  with  whom  I  had  corre- 
sponded, sometimes  officially,  sometimes  even 
fondly,  and  sometimes  rather  hotly,  but  of  whom  I 
have  now  only  the  dimmest  recollection,  or  none  at 
all.  I  am  reminded  of  a  clergyman  who  once  asked 
me  to  call  upon  a  certain  gentleman  who  might  help 
in  a  benevolent  scheme  in  which  we  were  both  in- 
terested. As  I  was  about  to  visit  the  individual  I 
received  a  special  delivery  note  from  the  clergy- 

337 


388  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

man,  saying,   "  Don't  try  to  see  Mi*.   — 


buried  him  six  months  ago."  Tlie  clergyman's 
lapse  of  memory  queered  me  at  the  time,  but  now  I 
can  sympathize  with  liim,  since  there  are  names 
among  my  old-time  correspondents  which,  had  I 
been  suddenly  asked  upon  the  witness-stand,  I 
might  have  declared  I  had  never  heard  of.  Mem. — 
Have  charity  for  some  people  who  are  reputed  to 
be  liars. 

In  another  respect  my  dust-bin  has  helpfully 
humiliated  me.  There  are  certain  incidents  in  my 
memory  that  greatly  interested  me  at  the  time  of 
their  occurrence,  and  have  often  been  mused  over 
and  even  related  to  others,  but  Avhich  the  discovery 
of  the  original  documents  convinces  me  were  a 
little  not  so.  The  Psalmist  struck  a  weak  spot  in 
human  nature  when  he  said,  "  While  I  mused  the 
fire  burned."  The  flames  grow  bigger  than  the 
original  kindling.     I  now  know  that  Mr.  


was  not  so  wicked,  Mr.  not  so  heroic,  and 

some  events  neither  so  wonderful  nor  so  mysterious 
as  I  have  been  for  years  imagining  them  to  have 
been.  I  may  have  been  prejudiced,  favorably  or 
unfavorably,  by  what  others  have  repeated  to  me; 
for  when  we  gossip  we  are  apt  to  cast  strong  side- 
lights upon  our  topic,  and  thus  project  thick 
shadows  that  entangle  themselves  Avith  the  real 
shapes  of  things  and  somewhat  distort  them. 

The  Archives  furnish  an  illustration  in  point. 
Here  is  a  letter  from  a  gentleman  of  highest  stand- 
ing.    It  contains  a  proposition  that  I  should  unite 


EECKEATIONS  OF  AGE  839 

witli  him  in  a  certain  scheme.  A  coj)y  of  my  reply 
shows  that  I  declined  to  engage  in  the  matter.  Yet 
a  few  years  after  onr  corresxiondence  this  gentle- 
man in  the  presence  of  others,  being  angered  at 
something,  accused  me  of  having  once  made  to  him 
this  identical  proposal,  and  told  with  somewhat  of 
conscientious  gusto  how  he  had  scorned  to  accede 
to  my  suggestion.  I  Avithdrew  from  the  circle  for  a 
while,  exhumed  the  correspondence,  and  presented 
it  to  the  company.  The  gentleman  stood  for  a  few 
moments  in  utter  bewilderment  confronted  with  his 
own  handwriting,  then  with  frank  apology  con- 
fessed his  error.  I  can  understand  the  incon- 
sistency. He  had  brooded  so  long  and  so  unwisely 
over  the  matter  that  he  had  hatched  out  a  creature 
with  its  head  on  the  wrong  end  of  its  body.  Or 
perhaps  the  fire  of  musing  had  been  so  hot  that  it 
fused  together  his  own  imagination  and  memory. 

At  the  time  of  this  outburst  of  misplaced  right- 
eousness I  recalled  the  advice  of  an  old  business 
man  which  led  me  to  found  my  dust-bin :  "  Keep  a 
record  of  all  matters  that  you  are  sure  are  not  un- 
important. Buy  a  letter  file  and  a  copying  press. 
Eecollections  become  hazy." 

Here  is  another  equally  unfortunate  brace  of 
letters. 

No.  1. 

"  Dear  Sir  : 

"  You  are  altogether  in  the  wrong.     I  agree 

entirely  with  your  o])ponent,   Mr.   W ,     It  is 

only  fair  that  I  should  plainly  say  so." 


340  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

No.  2,  from  tlie  same  writer  a  year  later : 

'•  Dear  Sir  : 

"  I  am  informed  that  you  are  under  the  im- 
pression that  I  opposed  you  in  that  matter.  I  did 
not.     You    were    clearly    riij;ht.     I    have    always 

thought  Mr.  W to  be  an  unwise  man.    I  could 

not  side  with  him.  It  is  but  just  that  I  should 
write  you  this,  that  you  niay  have  no  ground  for 
thinking  unfavorably  of  my  position." 

I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  this  gentleman's 
honesty.  He  had  changed  his  mind,  and  forgotten 
that  he  had  changed  it.  Mem. — If  this  be  so  re- 
garding matters  once  distinctly  in  our  personal 
knoAvledge,  can  we  give  unquestioning  credence  to 
even  honest  witnesses  of  historical  events,  to  their 
characterization  of  men  and  movements  with  whom 
or  in  which  they  have  been  closely  engaged,  espe- 
cially when  years  have  passed  between  their  orig- 
inal observation  and  their  narration,  during  which 
the  witnesses  were  liable  to  be  influenced  by  their 
own  predilections  or  hostilities,  or  by  much  confer- 
ence with  others  like-minded  with  themselves? 
Marginal  notes  have  a  persistent  tendency  to  get 
into  the  text. 

My  meditations  in  the  refuse-closet  were  pro- 
ductive of  another  impression.  I  had  hitherto 
thought  of  my  life  as  a  short  one.  Fii'st  and  second 
childhood  seemed  to  touch.  Life  a  "  span,"  a 
"  breath,"  a  "  vapor  " — how  apt  the  similes !  But 
as  I  slowly  moled  my  way  through  the  age-yellowed 


RECREATIONS  OF  AGE  341 

aud  dusty  pajjers  I  felt  that  I  had  beeu  a  long  time 

going. 

What  multitudes  of  jjeople  I  have  known,  com- 
panioned with  or  fought  with !  How  many  ventures 
slowly  i)lauued  and  wearily  pursued  for  months 
and  years,  many  of  them  futile!  What  depths  of 
experience  that  exhausted  patience  uutil  I  cried, 
How  long?  as  I  climbed  down  into  or  up  out  of 
them!  What  protracted  Avaitings  and  watchings 
in  times  of  fear,  sitting  beside  n  loved  sufferer, 
nursing  returning  health,  or  smoothing  the  path 
for  those  who  were  on  the  road  that  has  no  turning ! 
Each  of  these  experiences  was  like  a  condensed  life- 
time.    And  what  a  multitude  of  them ! 

These  old  papers  remind  me  also  that  I  have  lived 
contemjioraneously  with  a  long  i)eriod  of  the  world's 
history.  This  package  of  letters  tells  me  of  my 
brother's  tramp  across  the  Rocky  Mountains  about 
the  time  that  Daniel  Webster  was  orating  on  the 
impossibility  of  the  Republic  passing  that  gigantic 
wall  on  which  Heaven  had  written,  "  Thus  far  and 
no  further  "  to  our  national  ambition. 

Another  note  refers  to  my  cousin,  a  preacher  in 
"  Bleeding  Kansas,"  who  laid  a  brace  of  pistols 
across  his  Bible,  while  the  deacons  stacked  their 
Sharp's  rifles  in  the  pews  on  either  side. 

Here  are  letters  from  a  brother,  written  from 
nmny  a  field,  as  for  four  years  he  followed  the 
bloody  steps  of  progress  in  the  Civil  War. 

Here  is  an  old  address,  made  the  day  after  the  as- 
sassination   of   President   Lincoln.     By   request   I 


342  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

repeated  it  nearly  fifty  years  later.  Most  of  the 
time  of  its  secoud  delivery  was  spent  in  explaining 
the  meaning  of  its  original  references,  and  in  at- 
tempting to  reproduce  the  sentiment  that  lay  be- 
tween the  lines;  for,  with  all  our  knowledge  of 
Lincoln,  the  present  generation  does  not  know  him 
as  he  was  to  those  of  us  who  followed  or  opposed 
him  in  the  days  of  his  testing. 

I  also  have  come  across  a  reminder  of  a  pleasant 
visit  at  Elberon  during  Grant's  Presidency.  The 
General  very  graciously  received  my  host — one  of 
his  army  staff — and  myself.  The  happiest  remem- 
brance of  the  hour  was,  however,  sadly  marred  by 
our  reading  in  the  next  morning's  paper, — "  Grant 
on  another  drunk."  "  Not  seen  for  over  a  day." 
A  college  president  later  informed  me  that  Grant's 
next  "  debauch  "  was  spent  in  the  company  of  him- 
self and  his  venerable  wife ! 

This  bit  of  paper  records  the  birth  of  the  still 
existing  French  Republic,  and  that  one  tells  of  the 
founding  of  New  Germany,  and  another  scrap  indi- 
cates the  making  of  Italy  out  of  its  heterogeneous 
medieval  kingdoms  and  duchies.  And  I  have  lived 
through  these  world-shaking  events  and  felt  their 
tremor ! 

While  the  heap  of  my  Archives  has  been  growing, 
Science  has  advanced  more  than  in  any  thousand 
years  before.  Forests  have  given  place  to  cities 
containing  millions  of  inhabitants.  The  common 
life  of  mankind  has  changed  its  customs  and  ideals. 
The  map  of  the  hemispheres  has  been  torn  up 


KECREATIONS  OF  AGE  343 

and  repasted.  Several  Armageddons  have  made 
the  earth  rock  as  with  earthquakes,  and  several 
heralded  Millennimus  have  dawned  behind  the 
thick  clouds  that  blotted  them  out. 

And  yet  I  am  still  living!  ^Surely  Methuselah 
was  not  so  old,  unless  the  ancient  records  have  been 
mutilated  by  the  redactors.  As  I  come  out  from  my 
closet  for  fresh  air  I  feel  the  weight  of  my  shoulders 
and  that  I  ought  to  be  stooping.  I  imagine  that 
even  my  trousers'  knees  have  bends  in  them  that  the 
tailor  can  never  press  out  because  of  the  crooked 
limbs  inside  them.  I  shake  off  from  my  hands  the 
dust  of  those  old  boxes  and  envelopes  as  a  Pharaoh 
coming  to  life  might  have  rubbed  from  his  hands 
the  dust  that  had  infiltrated  itself  into  his  coffin. 

Again  and  again  I  plunge  into  its  melange. 

How  the  closet  fascinates  me.  In  it  are  rare 
comedies  and  tragedies  too.  Here  is  a  taste  of  the 
latter. 

A  young  girl  writes  me  from  the  county  jail : 

"  Demi  Sir  : 

"  I  have  lived  through  another  night  in  this 
horrible  place,  but  it  is  killing  me.  I  am  slowly 
but  surely  going  out  of  my  mind.  The  people  here 
are  the  very  lowest  of  human  creatures.  I  hold  my 
hands  over  my  ears  to  shut  out  the  blasphemies. 
Anotlier  such  night  and  I  will  hang  myself  to  my 
cell  door.     Pray  for  me,  and  for — him." 

This  girl  was  very  poor,  but  bright,  and  had 
secured  a  position  as  secretary  to  a  professional 
man  of  some  prominence.     This  man's  wife  was  a 


344  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

termagant,  apparently  crazed  by  the  drug  habit. 
An  affection  sprang  up  between  him  and  his  secre- 
tary. They  eloped.  The  girl  was  charged,  ap- 
parently at  the  instigation  of  the  wife,  with  having 
committed  theft  of  jewelry,  etc.  Knowing  the 
girl's  family,  I  could  understand  how  in  her  igno- 
rance of  society  she  might  have  been  led  into  her 
escapade,  but  could  not  believe  in  her  dishonesty. 
I  visited  her  in  the  prison.  Her  whole  demeanor 
confirmed  my  impression  of  her  innocence  in  the 
matter  of  the  theft.  But  that  prison!  It  was  a 
pandemonium  of  bestiality.  And  here  was  a  poor 
soul,  whatever  her  folly,  still  with  a  sense  of  honor 
and  refinement,  shut  up  for  weeks  in  this  al- 
most hellish  association  with  hardened  criminals. 

Judge  allowed  me  to  take  the  girl  to  her 

own  home  and  put  her  under  her  mother's  care,  on 
condition  that  a  benevolent  lady  in  our  neighbor- 
hood and  I  would  be  responsible  for  her  appearance 
in  court  when  called. 

( Several  letters  relating  to  the  affair  are  missing 
from  the  package.  I  would  not  retain  them,  but 
had  thrown  them  into  the  fire  as  soon  as  I  had  read 
them.  They  were  from  certain  very  righteous 
people  who  upbraided  me  for  having  interfered  with 
the  "just  punishment  of  an  abandoned  woman.") 

The  trial  of  the  girl  came  off.  There  was  not  a 
scintilla  of  evidence  for  the  theft.  The  property 
alleged  to  have  been  stolen  was  not  even  missing. 

Another  letter  in  this  packet  is  from  the  man  who 
misled  the  girl.    It  says,  "  She  was  entirely  inno- 


RECKEATIONS  OF  AGE  345 

cent.  I  alone  am  to  blame  for  her  leaving  her 
home.  I  shall  make  any  amends  that  can  be  put 
upon  me." 

The  man's  wife  died.  He  at  once  married  the 
girl.  They  moved  away,  and  I  believe  have  lived 
quiet  and  honorable  lives  in  their  new  community. 

Here  are  letters  from  an  acquaintance  who  had 
spent  twenty  years  in  prison  for  forgery.  I  first 
knew  him  as  a  rather  brilliant  young  lawyer.  The 
story  of  the  blasted  life  is  too  sad  for  publication. 

Let  me  take  the  bad  taste  out  of  the  mouth  by 
some  things  better.     In  a  letter  I  read,  "  I  think 

Mr.  has  made  a  large  contribution  to  our 

national  life  in  the  way  of  moral  enthusiasm." 
The  man  who  wrote  that  sentence  was  the  oppos- 
ing candidate  to  that  Mr. in  a  political  cam- 
paign for  the  Presidency, — a  campaign  unrivalled 
for  abusive  oratory  since  the  days  of  Thersites. 
The  courteous  reference  to  his  rival  was  in  a  letter 
written  on  a  matter  entirely  foreign  to  the  election. 
The  writer  went  out  of  his  way  to  pay  the  compli- 
ment to  his  antagonist.  Contrast  this  with  the 
scandals  which  the  smaller  fry  of  politicians  in- 
dulge in. 

Let  me  repeat  in  this  connection  a  remark  once 
made  in  my  hearing  by  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court :  "  I  have  now  been  for  over  forty  years  a 
close  observer  of  men  in  Washington.  They  are 
of  all  sorts.  But  I  have  never  known  a  states- 
man who  long  retained  prominence  and  the  public 
confidence  who  was  not  also  great-hearted,  honest, 


346  ALONG  THE  FKIENDLY  WAY 

j^cncroiis,  and  possessed  of  high  ideals  of  conduct. 
Herein  lies  a  secret  of  even  political  success." 

I  should  like  to  jjrint  that  at  the  top  of  every  page 
in  the  diaries  used  by  our  rising  generation  of 
politicians. 

Here  is  a  letter  which  I  x)rize  for  a  sentence  in  it, 
which  is  like  a  little  window  looking  in  upon  a  gen- 
erous soul. 

There  had  been  discovered  in  an  Eastern  monas- 
tery a  document  dating  from  about  the  second  cen- 
tury A.  D.  It  was  difficult  to  translate  with  ac- 
curacy, being  written  in  Byzantine  Greek.  My  cor- 
respondent, an  expert  classical  scholar,  had  pub- 
lished a  rendition  of  the  document  into  excellent 
English.  His  work  was  highly  prized  by  scholars 
and  Avidely  praised.  A  little  later  another  scholar 
published  another  translation.  On  seeing  it  the 
first  translator  recalled  his  own  work,  and  pro- 
nounced the  opinion  that  the  new  attempt  was  the 
better  one.  In  a  letter  I  expressed  the  view  that, 
while  his  action  showed  magnanimity,  it  was  hardly 
called  for,  his  own  work  having  such  merit  that  it 
should  be  widely  circulated.  In  his  reply  occurs 
this  sentence: 

"  I  enjoy  a  thing  better  said  by  another  more 
than  I  do  anything  I  can  say  myself." 

Now  scholars  and  literary  men  are  human,  and 
have  a  partiality  for  the  children  of  their  own 
brains.  Goethe  for  a  while  carried  at  least  a  bod- 
kin for  Schiller,  and  the  wrangle  of  poets  reminds 
one  of  the  bickerings  of  the  gods  on  Olympus,  which 


KECREATIONS  OF  AGE  347 

Virgil  rebukes,  "  Tantaene  animis  coelestibus  irse?  '* 
In  spite  of  liis  disclaimer,  I  adhere  to  the  notion 
that  my  correspondent  did  a  very  fine  and  a  very 
rare  thing. 

Here  is  a  bit  of  jjajicr  that  has  revived  the 
memory  of  several  months  of  delightful  study.  I 
had  been  asked  to  read  a  paper  before  a  historical 
society.  I  assented  to  write  on  the  career  of  a 
hero  of  whom  I  had  the  vaguest  impression  except 
that  he  was  a  real  hero.  My  promise  was  con- 
ditioned on  the  Society's  furnishing  me  with  needed 
information.  My  mention  of  the  name  brought  the 
reply  from  the  learned  secretary :  "  Who  in  thunder 
was  Scanderbeg? "  A  few  evenings  later  at  a 
literary  club  I  projiounded  the  secretary's  ques- 
tion. A  professor  of  history  in  one  of  our  big 
brain  hatcheries  replied  instantly :  "  Why,  he  was  a 
Scandinavian  mythical  character."  A  noted  edu- 
cator ventured  to  correct  him :  "  No ;  he  was  a  Ger- 
man theologian.  I  am  sure  that  I  have  read  one 
of  his  books."  Having  but  just  acquired  the  in- 
formation myself,  I  immediately  posed  as  a  superior 
authority,  and  announced  that  the  mysterious  in- 
dividual was  none  other  than  a  medieval  Balkan 
chieftain.  The  task  of  resurrecting  his  life  and 
times  was  one  of  the  most  pleasurable  episodes 
of  my  own  life.  It  was  a  rare  relief  from  the 
madding  crowd  of  our  own  day  to  lose  oneself  now 
and  then  in  the  Albanian  mountains,  and  mingle 
with  the  people  who  sang  and  fought  there  a  half 
century  before  America  was  discovered. 


348  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

Here  is  a  "  scrap  of  paper  "  more  honored  tliau 
that  Avhich  passed  between  Germany  and  Belgium. 
A  famous  trial  was  in  process.  The  crowd  was 
especially  interested  in  the  auticii^ated  appearance 
of  two  prominent  citizens  who  were  presumed  to  be 
bitter  enemies,  and  would  on  the  witness  stand  tear 
each  other's  reputations  to  tatters.  Meeting  Mr.  A. 
casually,  I  asked,  "  Why  are  you  so  incensed  at 
B.  ?  "  He  replied,  "  I  have  nothing  against  him.  We 
once  quarrelled.  But  we  shook  hands  over  the  af- 
fair. I  don't  Ivuow  why  he  threatens  to  assail  me.  I 
must,  of  course,  defend  myself."  Later  I  met  Mr.  B. 
"  Why  are  you  so  incensed  at  A.  ?  "  He  replied, 
"  I  have  nothing  against  A.  We  once  had  a  sort 
of  misunderstanding.  But  we  made  it  up.  But 
why  should  he  threaten  me?  I  must,  of  course,  de- 
fend myself."  I  said,  "  Will  you  lunch  with  me  to- 
morrow, and  tell  me  more?  "  He  accepted  the  invi- 
tation. I  then  sought  A.  and  invited  him  also,  but 
said  nothing  of  Mr.  B.'s  expected  presence.  When 
the  two  met  it  was  like  the  meeting  of  two  black 
clouds  charged  with  lightning.  Neither  spoke  for 
a  moment.  I  then  repeated  to  them  jointly  what 
each  had  told  me.  "  Now,  gentlemen,  I  will  leave 
you  together  for  ten  minutes  while  I  talk  to  my 
wife  about  the  fried  potatoes.  If  you  don't  like 
the  lunch  we  will  countermand  it."  The  lunch 
came  off.  Not  a  word  was  uttered  by  any  one  about 
the  occasion  that  brought  the  party  together. 
Neither  testified  at  court.  But  I  have  and  will  al- 
ways treasure  a  little  bit  of  pa^jer  signed  by  both. 


RECREATIONS  OF  AGE  349 

One  other  bit  of  jetsam  before  I  make  a  wreck 
of  the  old  closet :  At  a  watering-place  I  met  a  lady 
of  remarkable  beanty  and  brilliancy,  a  distinguished 
social  leader.  I  have  never  seen  a  finer  specimen 
of  the  charm  of  face  and  form  that  perfect  health 
combined  with  proper  art  can  give  a  woman. 
Every  evening  she  was  naturally  the  centre  of  a 
group  of  admirers,  I,  of  course,  being  only  a  thread 
in  the  fringe  of  her  receptions.  One  night  she  had 
been  especially  vivacious,  with  bright  repartee  to 
each  one  who  wished  her  a  pleasant  journey  to  her 
home  on  the  morrow.  I  and  my  wife  were  the  last 
to  speak  to  her.  She  surprised  us  by  saying, 
"  Won't  you  come  out  to  the  piazza  where  it  is  now 
quiet,  and  give  me  a  little  talk?  "  There  with  our 
backs  to  the  hotel  lights,  and  facing  the  stars,  she 
said,  "  I  am  apparently  in  excellent  health,  am  I 
not?  But  to-morrow  I  am  to  submit  to  a  surgical 
operation  which,  as  I  am  warned  by  my  physician, 
is  usually  very  painful  and  seldom  successful.  I 
have  tried  to  show  by  my  manner  no  anxiety. 
Why  should  I  cast  the  shadow  of  myself  upon 
others?  Besides,  none  of  these  people  could  say 
anything  to  help  me." 

We  talked  very  seriously  until  a  late  hour;  yet 
we  talked  cheerfully  of  problems  beyond  the  touch 
of  the  surgeon's  knife.  The  next  morning  a  servant 
brought  me  a  note,  and  with  it  enclosed  a  pretty 
little  scarf-pin.  The  note  read :  "  Please  keep  this, 
which  I  have  picked  at  random  from  my  bureau 
cushion,  as  a  reminder  of  our  conversation  last 


350  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

night.  I  am  sure  that  all  will  be  well,  even  if  not 
as  we  will  it."  A  few  weeks  later  I  received  the 
following  from  a  member  of  the  lady's  family: 

" has  passed  the  ordeal  successfully ;  thanks, 

say  the  physicians,  to  her  courage  and  cheerfulness 

through  it  all.     She  sends  to  you  and  Mrs. 

her  greetings."  This  was  before  the  day  when 
Anaesthesia  became  the  goddess  presiding  over  hos- 
pitals and  chambers  of  suffering. 

So  much  for  the  old  closet.  I  have  just  spent 
an  hour  by  my  grate  fire,  burning  hundreds  of 
letters  and  mementoes,  lest,  after  I  am  gone,  they 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  those  who  could  not 
interpret  them.  Why  not?  Pulvis  et  umbra 
sumus.  Many  hundreds  of  documents  I  retain  just 
to  munch  on  when  memory  calls.  But  as  they 
relate  to  peculiarities  of  my  own  career  they  have 
no  place  in  the  reminiscences  of  one  who  poses  as 
only  a  specimen  of  the  genus  homo. 

Interest  in  Little  Things. 

In  these  more  leisurely  days  I  find  much  pleasure 
in  making  the  acquaintance  of  little  things,  which 
in  the  exigencies  of  a  crowded  professional  life  I 
often  overlooked.  I  now  envy  some  of  my  friends 
who,  though  they  had  bigger  i3rojects  on  brain  and 
hand  than  I  had,  had  the  disposition  and  took  the 
time  to  interest  themselves  in  things  which  to  my 
bigger  conceit  seemed  too  trivial  to  divert  me.  How 
many  resting  spells  from  groove-worn  thoughts, 
how  many  brief  but  exhilarating  mental  excursions, 


RECREATIONS  OF  AGE  351 

how  much  knowledge  acquired  which  would  have 
made  me  wiser  and  more  able  to  interest  and  in- 
struct others,  would  have  been  mine  if  I  had  fol- 
lowed more  frequently  the  beckonings  of  things 
which  I  esteemed  of  little  account ! 

Now  that  I  can  i)ause  and  look  around  I  am  spell- 
bound by  the  multitudinous  wonders  that  environ 
me.  There  are  no  little  things,  except  in  physical 
bulk  or  passing  form.  As  the  slender  ray  from  the 
tiniest  facet  burns  with  a  lUstre  from  the  diamond's 
heart,  so  there  is  scarcely  anything  that  does  not 
bring  one  a  wealth  of  suggestion.  A  wave  is  not  a 
bit  of  bellying  water ;  it  has  more  scientific  signifi- 
cance than  the  richest  galleon  sunk  in  sea.  A  leaf 
is  an  offshoot  of  the  mighty  energy  of  universal 
vegetation,  and  not  a  mere  fluttering  patch  of  color, 
like  a  rag  on  a  bush.  A  smile  may  signal  love  as 
deep  as  the  soul.  An  unpremeditated  act  may  re- 
veal a  whole  character.  A  child's  face  prematurely 
old  with  toil  or  poor  food  may  serve  for  the  indict- 
ment of  our  entire  civilization. 

They  miss  much  who  are  always  straining  after 
the  seemingly  great  things.  Their  eyes  are  tele- 
scopic ;  they  take  in  the  stars,  but  do  not  note  the 
flowers  and  faces  that  throng  life's  pathways. 
They  are  obsessed  to  know  the  big  theories,  the 
marvels  of  discovery;  but  they  never  note  the 
arched  neck  and  velvety  step  of  a  horse,  or  how  a 
dog  looks  at  you,  and  tries  to  say,  *'I  love  you." 
They  are  familiar  with  the  crashing  events  of 
ancient  history,  the  renowned  names  in  the  world's 


352  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

biograpliy,  but  have  no  interest  in  Jane  or  Jim  or 
the  policeman  who  watches  their  property,  nor  in 
the  fine  table-linen  that  mother-in-law  gave  to 
Mary,  nor  in  their  own  boy's  school  lessons,  nor 
why  he  didn't  lick  the  other  boy  whose  demesne  is 
the  other  side  of  the  fence.  After  all,  the  wind- 
ings in  the  life-path  may  mean  more  for  our  happi- 
ness and  usefulness  than  even  its  destination. 
Life's  greatest  lessons  are  often  in  its  episodes. 

I  recall  the  advice  given  us  by  our  old  professor 
of  rhetoric :  "Avoid  great  themes.  Take  a  slender 
topic,  and  try  to  broaden  it,  for  every  truth  has 
limitless  outreaches,  as  every  brook  finds  its  way 
to  the  sea." 


Friends  With  Nature. 

For  contented  old  age  one  should  be  on  good 
terms  with  nature.     I  like  Wordsworth's 

'  *  I  love  the  brooks  which  down  their  channels  fret, 
Even  more  than  when  I  tripp'd  lightly  as  they." 

Nothing  can  be  more  depressing  for  a  man  who 
feels  his  failing  strength  than  a  notion  that  nature 
is  depleting  him,  is  inimicable,  wants  to  afflict  him 
and  bring  him  low.  For  this  torturing  folly  we  are 
largely  indebted  to  the  pessimistic  literature  that 
abounds.  We  are  scientifically  and  poetically 
bugabooed  with  the  fantasy  that  the  winds  that 
sough  through  the  forest  are  the  dirge  of  vegeta- 
tion; that  sea-waves  are  the  teeth  of  the  ocean 


RECREATIONS  OF  AGE  35 


o 


snapping  at  the  enterprises  of  men;  that  earth- 
quakes are  the  scowling  wrinkles  of  sudden  passion 
on  mother  nature's  face,  volcanoes  her  eyes  Hash- 
ing with  rage,  tempests  the  breath  of  her  scorn 
and  hate. 

On  the  contrary,  I  am  convinced  that  nature  is 
our  best  friend.  This  I  say  notwithstanding  the 
memory  of  some  painful  slax)pings  she  has  given 
me,  the  scars  of  which  I  still  retain.  Let  me  make 
an  extreme  contrast.  Man  is  sujiposed  to  be  loving. 
"  Humane  "  is  derived  from  "  Human."  Yet  since 
1914  men  have  wrought  more  horrors  on  the  earth, 
made  more  mutilated  flesh,  piled  higher  human 
bodies,  made  more  "  countless  thousands  mourn  " 
than  all  the  catastrophes  of  nature  during  the  six 
thousand  years  of  the  earth's  knoAvn  history.  Any 
one  of  a  hundred  battles  has  made  more  wreck  than 
the  earthquake  of  Messina  or  the  lava-sea  of 
Vesuvius.  And  this  cruelty  is  man's  deliberate 
treatment  of  his  fellows,  coolly  calculated  and  re- 
morselessly pursued. 

But  nature  has  never  shown  any  such  grudge 
against  a  human  being.  That  she  is  deaf  and 
blind,  and  does  not  know  whom  she  is  hurting,  is 
the  worst  that  can  be  said  against  her.  She  is  at 
least  no  worse  than  the  fat  mother  who  smothered 
her  babe  by  rolling  on  it  in  her  sleep. 

But  what  about  natural  diseases  and  death? 

It  has  yet  to  be  shown  that  torturing  diseases 
can  be  scientifically  charged  to  nature;  that  man 
himself  is  not  indictable  for  "  criminal  negligence  " 


354  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

in  allowing  their  spread.  Unnatnral  livins:,  where 
the  hasty  flush  of  passion  or  the  indulgence  of 
temporary  weakness  has  prevented  the  self-disci- 
pline of  common  observation  and  common  sense,  is 
recognized  to  have  been  the  occasion  of  the  intro- 
duction among  mankind  of  the  most  terrible  of  our 
physical  scourges.  Purely  natural  disease,  if  we 
may  call  it  such,  slowly  lessens  the  physical  func- 
tions, and  often  age  furnishes  its  own  anaesthesia. 
But  for  what  man  himself  has  done  to  enfeeble  it 
bodily  vitality  would  doubtless  vanish  as  gently 
as  the  odor  passes  from  the  drying  petals  of  a 
flower. 

Medical  science  attests  this  optimistic  view  of 
disease  with  the  theory  that  remedies  are  only  ex- 
pedients to  assist  nature  in  her  usual  processes, 
which  all  make  for  health.  Vis  Natura  has  been 
the  choice  prescription  of  physicians  since  the  days 
of  Galen.  Even  the  ancient  Decalogue  declares 
that  the  Lord  of  nature  visits  "  the  iniquities  of  the 
fathers  upon  the  children  (only)  unto  the  third 
and  fourth  generation,"  but  that  He  shows  "  mercy 
upon  thousands  (of  generations)  of  those  that  love 
Him  and  keep  His  commandments."  As  in  the  old 
mythology,  Antaeus  has  only  to  touch  the  earth  to 
renew  his  strength. 

Death,  when  it  comes  in  the  due  process  of 
nature,  that  is,  when  unaccompanied  by  the  pains 
induced  by  either  inherited  or  personal  trans- 
gression of  nature's  laws,  is  not  an  evil.  The 
Arabs  say  that  "  Death  is  the  Kiss  of  God  " : — a 


RECREATIONS  OF  AGE  356 

kiss  that  gently  steals  away  our  breath.  There  is 
vast  benevolence  in  the  scheme  that  prescribes  for 
a  man,  tired  with  the  wear  of  his  generation,  that 
he  shall  lie  down  and  rest;  that  when  one  has  be- 
come satiated  with  his  experiences  of  this  world, 
indurated  in  his  opinions  (as  most  old  people  are) 
he  should  move  on,  and  so  make  room  for  fresh  life 
to  people  the  world.  There  is  nothing  sadder  than 
to  see  an  old  man,  like  a  shrivelled  apple  on  a 
December  tree,  trying  to  cling  to  his  withered 
branch  on  the  tree  of  life. 

So  I  comfort  myself  in  my  brown  and  crisp  days 
with  the  thought  that  better  men  may  be  nourished 
on  any  substance  I  may  leave  behind  me,  especially 
if  any  tiny  bit  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  world 
shall  be  at  all  fertilized  and  enriched  by  my  having 
lived  in  it  for  a  time. 

This  is  not  merely  my  philosophy ;  it  is  a  part  of 
my  religious  faith.  Christ  was  the  Lord  of  nature ; 
His  miracles  proved  it.  The  great  value  of  miracles 
was  not  in  the  amount  of  happiness  they  gave  to 
their  immediate  beneficiaries,  like  the  blind  and 
sick  whom  He  healed,  but  rather  in  that  they 
demonstrated  that  the  universal  system  of  nature 
was  dominated  by  Himself,  the  most  loving  being 
that  ever  trod  the  earth. 

With  such  a  faith  I  find  a  constant  exhilaration 
in  trying  to  exercise  it.  In  love  of  nature  I  en- 
deavor to  "  hold  communion  with  her  visible 
forms "  that  disport  themselves  at  my  bungalow 
doorway.     What  multitudinous  insects  buzz  their 


356  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

paradisiacal  psalms  as  they  flit  through  their  brief 
generations !  The  birds  and  beasts,  in  that  blessed 
unintelligence  that  shuts  out  anticij)ation  of  evil — 
in  which  lies  the  bulk  of  hiuiian  suffering — all  take 
their  part,  singing,  croaking,  roaring,  according  to 
their  various  laryngeal  instruments,  in  the  grand 
diapason  of  their  Creator's  praise.  The  crash  of  a 
falling  pine  tree,  making  room  in  the  soil  for  its 
successor,  punctuates  the  music  like  the  ringing 
strokes  in  the  Anvil  Chorus,  And  I  sit  in  my  door- 
way, and  purr  my  part  in  the  general  worship. 

Owling  Hours. 

"  Do  you  sleep  well  o'  nights?  "  inquired  a  vener- 
able friend. 

"  No,  thank  God !  I  don't,"  I  replied. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  my  friend.  "  Do  you  thank 
God  for  insomnia?  To  me  sleeplessness  is  like  be- 
ing swallowed  by  a  boa-constrictor  that  keeps  me 
stuck  in  his  throat  for  hours.  In  the  darkness  one 
can  only  think,  think.  I  hate  it.  So  I  sometimes 
get  up  and  read,  or  watch  the  stars  until  my  eyes 
blink  back  at  them." 

"  To  me,"  I  replied,  "  the  best  part  of  the  day  or 
night  is  when  I  can  lie  awake  in  the  small  hours, 
before  the  roosters  and  the  milkman  make  me  doze 
off  again  with  their  monotonous  noises.  There  is 
so  much  to  think  about;  and  one  can't  think  satis- 
factorily in  the  daytime,  when  family  and  neigh- 
bors and  newspapers  are  apt  to  break  up  the 
pleasant  web  one  is  spinning.     But  it  is  a  bit  of 


EECREATIONS  OF  AGE  357 

Paradise  to  lie  flat  on  your  hiuk,  on  a  bed  soft 
enough  to  nialvc  you  forget  that  you  have  any  pro- 
jecting angles  on  your  body,  when  darkness  and 
silence  are  so  thick  about  you  that  they  muffle  the 
senses  and  keep  them  from  obtruding  their  trivial 
suggestions, — then  to  live  over  the  past  and  ijros- 
pect  the  future,  to  spin  romances,  and  enact  trage- 
dies with  yourself  safely  out  of  all  danger.  How  I 
have  at  such  times  rollicked  with  my  own  remem- 
bered boyhood,  made  love  again  to  my  wife,  played 
with  my  babies  now  possessed  of  babies  of  their 
own,  refought  my  battles,  rewon  my  successes,  took 
again  my  worstiugs  when  they  no  longer  hurt,  wept 
over  the  recollection  of  sorrowful  hours,  but 
thanked  God  for  the  "  loved  and  lost  a  while  " ! 
What  crowds  of  familiar  faces  look  in  upon  me — 
faces  that  have  withdrawn  from  sense-sight  into  the 
Great  Haze! 

Then,  too,  as  I  lie  awake  I  think  of  what  the 
great  world  is  doing,  what  it  did  yesterday,  what  it 
did  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  what  it  is  going  to 
do  long  after  I  have  dropped  out  of  its  melee. 
What  a  tremendous  play  to  watch !  And  one  can't 
watch  the  stage  well  unless  the  lights  are  turned 
down  in  the  rest  of  the  house. 

The  best  things  I  have  ever  thought  of,  at  least 
that  I  have  thought  out,  had  their  hatching-hour 
between  midnight  and  dawn.  Then  I  have  ar- 
ranged economically  and  wisely  the  program  for 
the  following  day,  developed  topics  upon  which  I 
must  write  or  speak,  and,  above  all,  settled  ques- 


368  ALONG  THE  FEIENDLY  WAY 

tions  tliat  have  disturbed  relations  between  "  Me 
and  Myself." 

"  You  must  liave  a  good  conscience,  or  a  bribed 
conscience,  to  talk  in  tliat  way,"  says  my  friend. 
"  You  evidently  haven't  had  the  temptations  and 
tumbles  that  I  have  had,  or  you  wouldn't  run  so 
light-footed  over  the  past." 

"  No,"  I  reply,  "  I  haven't  a  good  conscience.  If 
I  should  criticize  myself  I  would  be  stuck  as  full  of 
devils'  arrows  as  Saint  Sebastian  was.  But  I  don't 
criticize  myself.  I  am  not  worth  criticizing.  It's 
too  small  business  to  be  finding  fault  Avith  oneself. 
But  give  me  a  saint,  and  I  will  point  out  his  very 
freckles  with  jealous  delight.  Job  said  that  the 
Lord  imputes  folly  to  His  angels,  but  the  good 
Book  also  says  that,  as  for  the  sins  of  common 
folks,  such  as  you  and  I,  the  Lord  forgets  them, — 
that  is,  of  course,  if  we  ourselves  don't  like  them, 
which  is  the  real  meaning  of  repentance.  I  once 
quarrelled  with  a  man  who  said  with  sanctimonious- 
ness, ^  I  forgive  you,  my  dear  friend,  but  I  can't 
forget  it.'  That  is  worse  than  '  Injun  giving.'  God 
doesn't  forgive  with  a  string  attached  to  His  grace. 
He  says,  '  I  will  remember  them  no  more  forever. 
I  will  blot  them  out  as  a  thick  cloud,'  and  spread 
over  you  only  the  clear  azure  of  my  smile.  Now 
I  am  not  greater  than  the  Almighty.  If  He 
doesn't  shadow  me,  I'm  not  going  to  shadow  myself. 
Besides,  if  a  man  should  forgive  another  seventy- 
times  seven  times,  shouldn't  he  be  a  little  merciful 
to  himself  when  the  Lord  tells  him  that  He  has  no 


KECREATIONS  OF  AGE  359 

longer  any  thing  against  him?  So  I  don't  let  my 
wretched  past  disturb  me  o'  nights  any  more  than 
I  would  let  the  mice  nest  in  my  pillow." 

"  But,"  jjursues  my  friend,  "  aren't  you  some- 
times anxious  about  the  future?  The  night  black- 
ens with  its  darkness  all  my  bugbears.  I  need  the 
full  sunshine  to  cheer  me  before  I  tackle  the  prob- 
lems that  lie  ahead  of  me." 

"  What,"  I  reply,  "  do  you  want  of  the  sunshine? 
Look  at  the  stars  in  the  night  sky.  I  think  of  them 
as  the  myriad  eyes  of  God.  And  don't  you  remem- 
ber that  the  good  Book  says,  '  The  eyes  of  the  Lord 
run  to  and  fro  throughout  the  whole  earth,  to  show 
Himself  strong  in  behalf  of  all  those  whose  hearts 
are  toward  Him'?  With  the  sky  full  of  watchers 
I  lie  awake  until  I  purr  myself  to  sleep  again  with 
as  little  anxiety  as  a  kitten  has  in  the  lap  of  her 
mistress." 

The  Great  Gloaming. 

My  old  friend  frequently  visits  me.  He  is  not  far 
from  the  exit  of  life.  He  is  like  some  awkward 
l)eople  who  have  the  habit  of  standing  in  the  door- 
way, saying  that  it  is  time  to  be  going,  but  delaying 
their  departure,  and  perhaps  letting  in  a  cold 
draught  upon  those  who  remain.  My  friend's  ques- 
tions are  as  chronic  as  are  the  twinges  of  his  rheu- 
matism. 

"Where  do  you  think  we  are  going  when  the 
mortgage  on  the  body  is  up  and  we  have  to  move 
out? "     "  What  do  you  imagine  we  will  do  out 


360  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

yonder,  when  we  have  no  limbs  to  do  anything?  " 
"Are  there  any  Gates  Ajar  in  the  Beyond,  or  is 
there  only  infinite  vacuity?  "  "  How  are  we  going 
to  he  at  all  without  bodies,  and  with  less  matter 
than  a  wind  has?  " 

I  used  to  debate  with  my  friend.  We  have  had 
some  intellectual  wrestling  matches,  out  here  on 
the  crimibling  edge  of  Land's  End.  Plato's  argu- 
ments for  immortality,  Cicero's  hopes,  medievalists' 
dreams  of  Hell,  Purgatory  and  Paradise,  all  the 
ghostly  shapes  recently  discovered  flitting  through 
the  brains  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research — 
we  have  thrown  these  at  each  other's  heads  until 
the  violent  exercise  has  threatened  to  hasten  the 
fatal  stroke  that  impends  over  both  of  us. 

Finding  debate  about  the  unknowable  utterly 
unsatisfactory  I  adopt  a  new  method.  I  assume 
a  manner  of  utter  nonchalance. 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care  who,  what, 
where,  how,  or  for  how  long  I  shall  exist  after  the 
frost  of  life  has  split  off  the  last  bit  of  the  rock  of 
my  present  being," 

Of  course,  this  startles  my  friend.  He  thinks  I 
am  worse  than  an  agnostic  because  I  want  to  be 
one.  Then  I  appease  his  fear  for  my  sanity  by 
something  like  this : 

"Your  son  James  is  going  away,  out  into  the 
uncertainties  of  life.  But  one  thing  is  certain: 
wherever  he  goes  you  are  going  to  follow  him  with 
your  solicitude.  You  are  going  to  set  him  up  in 
business,  put  your  name  on  his  paper  if  necessary, 


EECREATIONS  OF  AGE  361 

and  so  forth.  I  haven't  heard  the  details  of  your 
scheme,  but  that  I  understand  is  your  general  pur- 
pose.    Is  it  not  so?  " 

"  Of  course  it's  so,"  he  replies.  "  But  how  did 
you  or  anybody  else  know  that?  I  have  told  no- 
body, not  even  the  boy's  mother,  what  is  in  my 
mind." 

"  Nobody  told  me,"  I  reply.  "  It  wasn't  neces- 
sary that  they  should.  But  everybody  knows  just 
what  you  will  do  for  James.  He  is  bone  of  your 
bone,  and  as  far  as  you  have  been  able  to  give  your- 
self to  him,  soul  of  your  soul.  You  have  always 
done  everything  that  is  paternal.  You  have  edu- 
cated him,  given  him  a  good  time  during  his  youth, 
disciplined  him  at  times  when  it  hurt  you  more 
than  it  did  him.  Now  that  James  is  about  to  begin 
another  sort  of  career  you  are  not  going  to  drop 
him.  I  would  insult  you  to  think  such  a  thing. 
I  am  sure  that  the  boy  is  going  to  do  well  if  his 
father  lives  and  doesn't  go  into  bankruptcy,  or 
James  himself  doesn't  go  astray.  I  know  that  as  I 
know  that  the  river  which  has  flowed  so  far  will 
flow  on  in  the  same  direction,  only  getting  deeper 
and  broader.  Now  see  here,  old  chum,  hasn't  the 
good  Lord — *  He  after  Whom  all  the  fatherhoods  in 
heaven  and  on  earth  are  named,' — hasn't  He  been 
good  and  thoughtful  toward  you  and  me  for  over 
three-quarters  of  a  century?  Do  you  think  He  will 
go  back  on  us  now  that  we  are  at  one  of  the  crises 
of  our  existence?  Why  then  go  back  on  Him?  It 
shows  a  lack  of  faith,  a  lack  of  common  decent  con- 


362  ALONG  THE  FRIENDLY  WAY 

lideiice  to  be  iucessautly  asking  Him  how  He  is  go- 
ing to  do  things.  That  is  the  reason  that  I  say 
I  don't  care  for  the  future.  I  mean,  of  course, 
that  1  don't  carry  care  for  it.    I  lilce  Whittier's 

"  '  God  forgive  the  child  of  dust 

Wlio  fain  would  see  where  faith  should  trust.' 

You  and  I  are  neither  of  us  made  of  the  stuff  that 
martyrs  are  made  of — not  having  been  made  to  be 
nuirtyrs — but  we  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  let  old 
Polycarp  beat  us  in  his  magnanimity.  You  re- 
member that  he  said  to  his  executioners  who  wanted 
him  to  deny  God,  '  Eighty  and  six  years  have  I 
served  Him,  and  He  has  done  me  no  harm.  Why 
should  I  deny  Him?  '  When  I  was  a  young  fellow, 
as  foolish  as  I  was  ignorant,  I  used  to  play  Atlas, 
and  try  to  carry  the  world  on  my  shoulders.  But 
now  I  am  going  to  let  the  world  roll  as  God  wants 
it  to,  and  to  roll  me  along  with  it,  I  can  trust  the 
gravitation  of  the  Eternal  Love  to  keep  me  safe 
somewhere  on  the  surface.  We  don't  need  to  over- 
come our  fear  of  death  by  any  forced  belief  in 
crowns  and  glories  that  are  preached  at  us.  As 
Shelley  would  put  it,  we  are  not  human  moths 
fascinated  by  the  stars.  We  ought  to  be  contented 
with  what  God-directed  Evolution  has  in  store  for 
us  at  the  next  cataclysm.  The  worst  that  can 
happen  to  us  is  the  bump  at  the  landing  on  the 
eternal  shore." 

In  this  way  we  two  old  pals  chat  at  the  great 


KECREATIONS  OF  AGE  363 

doorway,  as  we  metaphorically  pull  up  our  coat 
collars  aud  prepare  to  go  out. 

NoAV  comes  the  news  that  my  friend  has  really 
made  his  exit.  He  i)assed  quietly.  Why  not?  I 
tliiuk  some  uew  liaud  must  have  touched  his,  very 
softly,  very  lovingly,  aud  have  drawn  him  through 
the  doorway.  I  am  sure  that  he  left  a  smile  for 
me  as  he  went. 

I  was  one  day  sitting  in  a  tent  in  an  Eastern 
land,  talking  with  a  companion.  A  sudden  wind 
lifted  the  canvas  door-flap,  fluttered  it  a  moment, 
then  let  it  fall  back  again  over  the  opening.  It 
fell  between  us  tAvo.  I  was  on  the  inside  of  the 
tent,  with  the  narrow  vision  of  cooking  utensils  and 
Arab  pistols.  He  was  outside,  and  had  the  vision 
of  the  hills  and  sky.  So  the  death-wind  has 
separated  my  old  friend  and  me.  I  remain  in  the 
little  world.    He  is  in  God's  great  Out-of -Doors. 


Printed  tn  the  United  States  of  America 


Date  Due 

*i/?3.r5K 

WPSPil******'*^ 

1 

(l) 

